


Do You Believe That Everyone Can Be A Good Person?

by Akumokagetsu



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath, All of the Triggers, And Some Not So Platonic Relationships, Angst, Badster, But Seriously My Weakness Is Fluff, Chara Has Issues, Chara Isn't A Total Psychopath, Character Development, Daddy Issues, Daddy Sans, Dadster, Dark, Dark As Balls, Drinking, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Flowey Is A Dick, Fluff, Frisk Has Issues, Gaster Has Cheat Codes, Gen, Grillby Is A Good Person, How Many Times Do I Have To Warn You Not To Read This, Humans Can Be Pretty Cool Too, Humans Can Be Terrible, Hurt/Comfort, I Wonder How Many More Tags I Can Add, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Like Seriously What The Actual Fuck, Lol get it, M/M, More Like CHARActer Development, More tags to be added, Multi, Now Starring Gaster As 'An Actual Fucking Psychopath', Papyrus Has Issues, Papyrus is a precious cinnamon bun, Paranoia, Paranoid Sans, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sans Has Issues, Sans Is A Terrible Role Model, Sans Is Weird As Shit, Seriously This Gets Fucked Up, Smoking, TortureTale, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, You're Sending Mixed Signals Here Gaster, at first anyway, grillby - Freeform, lots of daddy issues, please don't read this, referenced/implied drug use, timefuckery, wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-05-18 07:14:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 31
Words: 116,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14848154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumokagetsu/pseuds/Akumokagetsu
Summary: Sans is tired of the resets. He decides to do something about it to change things for the better.Everything just sort of goes downhill from there.





	1. Things Will Be Different

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


_And here we go._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans jolted awake, as he usually did after a terrible nightmare. He clutched at his chest tightly, forcing himself to remain still as he bit his tongue. He didn't need to go screaming again and alert his brother like the last time. Not that he remembered, but still. Sans squeezed his eye sockets shut, taking a few long, deep breaths through his nostril bone. He could still feel the wetness at the bottom of his shorts from kneeling in the snow, Papyrus's scarf clutched loosely in one hand. Still hear the wordless screaming as he reached out for someone that wasn't there anymore. He shuddered quietly, struggling to sit up and stare out the window at the gently falling snowflakes. Just take a few deep breaths to catch up, pretend that everything was fine. All he had to do was fall back into routine. Things were easier that way. Simpler. Sans could live with that.

  
  


 

  
  


_Knock knock knock._

  
  


 

  
  


Same time, every time.

  
  


“Who's there?” Sans tried to ask in a jovial voice, but his heart just wasn't in it anymore. That didn't mean he couldn't keep up appearances though.

  
  


“Sans, it's time to get up, you lazybones!” Papyrus called through the door. “Are you trying to go back to sleep or something?”

  
  


“Yes,” Sans sat up with a grin as his brother poked his head in through the doorway. “I'm getting faster and faster at it, I think I need more practice napping.”

  
  


“Sans, the only thing you need more practice at is literally anything and everything except napping!”

  
  


“Like sleeping,” he shrugged. “Or snoozing, or relaxing, or chilling, or chillaxing-”

  
  


Papyrus threw up his hands with an irritated shriek, stomping away.

  
  


“Just get _up_ already! I made breakfast spaghetti,” he could still hear his brother clearly even though he was already halfway down the stairs. Sans most certainly was not in the mood for breakfast spaghetti of any kind, and he closed his eye sockets for a few moments. Hadn't he just done all of this the other day? Or was it days ago? A week? Didn't really matter, he supposed. He dragged himself out of bed and tried to clear his mind of the images still burned into his eye sockets. Papyrus's scarf in the snow. Dust blowing freely through Waterfall. Splashes of red on golden checkered tiles.

  
  


 

  
  


He clenched and unclenched his hands slowly, digging out his old journal and scribbling down a few notes before dressing in his shorts and the first white turtleneck that he pulled out of his messy closet. He just had to stay calm. He knew what happened when he panicked, and even though every fiber of his being wanted to scream that absolutely none of this was normal, he had to keep going. He felt a little prickle on the back of his neck of being watched as he dressed, but he brushed it off. He had other things on his mind. He locked his door behind him as he snagged his jacket, pulling it on lazily as he watched Papyrus stretching in the living room.

  
  


 

  
  


“What'cha doin' that for, Paps?” Sans asked casually. The last time he had asked numbly about training with Undyne, and the time before that had been 'prepare harder for the zombie apocalypse, bro!' He had to change it up a little each time. If he didn't, he would have gone absolutely crazy by this point. If he wasn't already.

  
  


“Today is going to be the day,” Papyrus gave a firm fist pump.

  
  


“Which day?” Sans winked at him. “Wednesday?”

  
  


“No, Sans,” the lights in his eye sockets rolled. “The day I succeed at long last!”

  
  


“Because you didn't succeed in making in through yesterday?”

  
  


“Because today, brother, is going to be the day that I catch a human!”

  
  


“You're really excited about this, huh,” Sans tried to say with some cheer, but it was falling flat. He gave himself a little shake, forcing a slightly wider grin.

  
  


“This is the day, the day I catch a real, live human!” Papyrus was almost bouncing back and forth at this point, struggling to pull on his boots as he stood. “I can just feel it, Sans!”

  
  


“In your bones?”

  
  


“In m- Sans!”

  
  


“Only jokin', bro,” he shrugged, watching his brother struggle for a moment. “Come on, man. Maybe... maybe we don't have to catch a human today?” Sans asked somewhat hopefully. Papyrus only stared at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head.

  
  


 

  
  


“Oh,” Papyrus snapped his gloved fingers after a moment. “Joke. Right.”

  
  


“Yup,” Sans said humorlessly as he stared over at the couch, wishing that he could just flop onto it and sleep his problems away. “Just a joke. Ha ha.”

  
  


“Are-are you okay, Sans?” Papyrus tapped his fingers together worriedly.

  
  


“Yeah, of course!” he replied with a bit too much enthusiasm. “Let's get goin' already, eh?”

  
  


“ _That's_ the spirit!” Papyrus crowed, grabbing him by the shoulders excitedly. “I want to catch that human!”

  
  


“Hey, not possible outcomes, _definite_ outcomes!” Sans grinned up at him, knowing exactly how to get him going.

  
  


“I'm _going_ to catch a human!” he thrust a fist in the air, readjusting his scarf in preparation.

  
  


“Yeah, I'm feelin' it!” Sans grinned, unable to help growing a little thrilled himself at his brother's display. “Your puzzles are gonna stump some humans.”

  
  


“My puzzles are going to stump _all_ the humans!” Papyrus said firmly, newfound determination in his eye sockets.

  
  


“Today is gonna be the day!”

  
  


“Today is going to be the day!”

  
  


“You are the Great fucking Papyrus!”

  
  


“I am the Great f- _Sans_!”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans only cackled as his brother goose stepped him out the door, grumbling loudly about the lack of use for their swear jar. Maybe this time things wouldn't be so bad. Maybe, just maybe, this time things would be different.

  
  


And they would be different, one way or another.

  
  


Even if he had to make them different.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


The crunch of snow was all that Sans heard in the silent forest.

  
  


 

  
  


He stood just behind the treeline for a while, ensuring that there were no fresh footprints around aside from his own, and he slowly made his way to the large door emblazoned with the royal seal in the middle of the woods. The old door that lead to the ruins. It was strange that his friend chose that of all places to live when surely there were many more comfortable places to be. He had only been in the ruins a couple of times himself, and it just plain creeped him out seeing all of those empty buildings and worn out structures that had been abandoned or lost to time. Why anyone would willingly choose to stay in a place like that was beyond him, but at least his friend had some good knock knock jokes and a decent sense of humor. He was missing her already.

  
  


Maybe this time she would actually come around when he knocked.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sighed as he watched an icicle fall from its loft perch above the door and shatter with a light tinkle to the ground. It was approximately seven fifty-eight in the morning, and he didn't even need a watch to know what time it was. Maybe he should get one. He shrugged the thought off. He had a specific line of dialogue set up for approaching humans, it helped him keep it together. He'd had enough practice, he thought grimly to himself. The delta rune covering the large door ever so slowly split as it opened just a crack, allowing a small child in a blue and violet striped jumper. He knew better by now than to let looks deceive him. He shifted from shadow to shadow as he stalked them, like a fox hunting a rabbit he stealthily slipped from tree to tree. He saw them carefully clamber over a large branch, and after a few steps they turned on the spot and held something behind their back, looking worriedly about. Sans waited for a few moments, trying to shrug off his weariness. Maybe he could do it again this time.

  
  


 

  
  


He fell forward into a shortcut, and stomped down hard on the branch with a resounding crack! that caused the human to jump and whirl around again, but he was already gone. Their face was so full of fright, of terror that he made a mental snapshot of it and tucked it away for later. It was a petty victory and he knew it, but he would collect what trophies that he could. Sans watched them approach the shoddily constructed 'gate' that Papyrus had made to prevent any humans from crossing (not that it had done much good before) and Sans fell into another shortcut, taking his time and letting his footsteps crunch through the snow as he stomped toward them to alert them of his presence. They didn't turn around though, holding something in front of them and shivering. Although whether it was from the biting cold or their apparent fear, Sans neither knew nor cared. He simply stood behind the little anomaly and stared down at the human, nearly a head shorter than him.

  
  


 

  
  


“... _Human_.”

  
  


They turned and stuck out their hand, not meeting his gaze with their eyes hidden by locks of hair, and they stood expectantly like that for a moment.

  
  


“... What?” he shrugged after a few seconds. “Meet some new monster and the first thing you wanna do is shake hands? Weird.”

  
  


Their hand slowly dropped to their side and they looked away, tugging oddly at their sleeves as if they could pull them over their hands. His gaze lingered on their hands for a moment, noting that they were thankfully clear of dusty powder this time around. Their mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but they said nothing. Sans had spent years and years studying facial expressions, and with all of the resets that he had gone through he had plenty of time to perfect his hobby. This human, however, was difficult to get a proper read on. Their face drained of all emotion, and they stared up at him with a look that he could not for the life of him identify.

  
  


“So, my bro, Papyrus,” Sans continued casually. “Really great guy by the way; the thing is, see, he'd love ta see a human. So if you could, I dunno. Keep pretending to be one? That'd be swell.”

  
  


They flinched hard and rubbed their arms close to their body, shaking.

  
  


“Actually,” he carried on, trying not to delight too much in their distress. “That's him over there. Why don't you-”

  
  


“I'm sorry.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans blinked, dropping his arm and sticking his hands into his pockets. It was the first time that he had heard them speak since the Judgment Hall, and their voice was soft, clipped, and so frail that he was surprised it didn't break on the wind. They were quieter than then, too. Or maybe that was just because it seemed louder because everyone else was gone. They shivered and shook and Sans saw that they were beginning to cry, clinging to themselves for warmth.

  
  


“I'm sorry,” they sobbed again, their little shoulders wavering with their voice. “I'm _sorry_. I'm s-so, _so_ sorry.”

  
  


“Sans?” he glanced upward to see Papyrus marching toward them through the snow. He wanted to tell Papyrus to keep away, but this new turn of developments was proving interesting, even if it was all obviously just an act. “What's going on? This person seems to be... crying. Rather hard, actually.”

  
  


“Funny,” Sans said without a single trace of humor in his voice. “They must have had a bad time or somethin'.”

  
  


This only served to make them cry harder.

  
  


 

  
  


They dropped to their knees and almost sank into the snow, sobbing and hiccuping quietly with their face in their hands. Sans didn't need to see their tears streaming down their face to know how hard they were crying. The waterworks shtick could only go on for so long, and they would be stabbing him in the back before he knew it.

  
  


“I'm s-s-sorry,” they cried softly, as if afraid to raise their voice too much, pulling at their hair in distress. Papyrus knelt in the snow beside them and placed a large hand on their shoulder. “I'm s-so, so s-sorry, P-Papyrus, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-!”

  
  


“ _Shh_. It's alright, little one,” Papyrus said gently, either oblivious to or ignoring the fact that they seemed to already know him by name. “It's okay. You don't have anything to be sorry for, little one. It's going to be okay.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans groaned internally. Why did his brother have to be the type to play the hero? He wanted to tell him to just drop the filthy anomaly as he watched them get scooped up in Papyrus's arms. From the way that they were crying however, trying to curl into a ball and hide in on themselves when they were picked up, Sans almost, almost fell for their obvious trick for a moment. He just shrugged and followed his surprisingly silent brother back toward Snowdin.

  
  


Maybe this time, things really would be different.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus was not the type of person to leave someone, monster or not, crying out in the snow, and as a result wound up carrying them all the way back to Snowdin. They traversed through puzzle after puzzle, and though Papyrus was more than a little disappointed that they didn't get to try any of them, the human looked up at him as if he were the greatest hero they had ever seen the entire time.

  
  


That was... kind of a nice change of pace.

  
  


Teenage monsters playing with their friends watched them from a distance, but didn't interfere. Sans could live with that. It was quiet for the longest while, even after Papyrus had made them tea they still hardly spoke much at all.

  
  


 

  
  


“So your name is Frisk...” Papyrus swirled his tea around as he sat beside them on the couch. “That's a very nice name, little one.”

  
  


“And I'm Sans,” Sans introduced himself even though he knew that he didn't have to. Had to keep up appearances and all that. “Sans T. Skeleton. The 'T' stands for the,” he gave a small wink. “Evidently you already know my bro.”

  
  


“Well, are you really surprised?” Papyrus scoffed. “I mean, who hasn't heard of the Great Papyrus?”

  
  


“Heh. Got me there, bro.”

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk replied for what must have been the hundredth time already, staring blankly ahead at the black television screen. “I'm so, so sorry-”

  
  


“You know, you keep apologizing,” Papyrus finished off his tea although neither of the other two had so much as sipped at theirs. “I'm still not entirely certain for what though.”

  
  


“Pa-Papyrus...?” Frisk began slowly, turning their teacup around a few times and staring down into the liquid. “Um. How... how much do you know about-about... resets?”

  
  


And here we go.

  
  


 

  
  


“Not a thing,” Papyrus responded instantly.

  
  


“It's-it's like... like, um, g-going back,” Frisk tried to explain without looking at him. “I mean, but not-not really. You're there, but-but you aren't, and I have to try again and again, and-and I-I-I...!”

  
  


“Shh, it's alright. You know, you look so thin, are humans supposed to be that scrawny? You look like you could use some nice breakfast spaghetti. Everybody likes my breakfast spaghetti, it's the best, except for when it comes to lunch spaghetti and dinner spaghetti and even sometimes late night snack spaghetti, but those are pretty few and far between. I learned to cook from a good friend, I think that you would like her very much,” Papyrus continued to ramble, and Sans recognized almost instantly that he was speaking in the same tone that he always did whenever Sans woke up from one of his more... devastating nightmares. Seeing it directed at the human instead of him made it feel tainted, somehow. He wasn't certain whether or not he was feeling a twinge of jealousy. But that was ridiculous. He had no reason to be jealous of the little freak.

  
  


 

  
  


“Papyrus,” Frisk said after a while, and the tall skeleton paused. “I'm so sorry. I... I hurt so many people. I-I h-hurt you, I-”

  
  


“Don't be silly,” he patted their head and caused them to flinch suddenly. “You haven't hurt me. I'm right here, aren't I? And besides, that would be very hard for you to do, I am a very tough skeleton. Nyeh heh heh.”

  
  


“You don't understand,” Frisk tried to say somewhat desperately, almost dropping their teacup. “I need t-to tell you-!”

  
  


“You don't have to tell me anything,” Papyrus said firmly, looking them in the eyes. “Like I said, you're practically skin and bones, you should get something to eat. Who knows, if you ditch the skin you could just be all bones, and then we'd practically be family! Wouldn't that be neat?”

  
  


“But-but-!” they sputtered, only for Papyrus to hold up a finger as he stood to silence them.

  
  


“No butts but yours, sitting right here while I go make you some breakfast spaghetti,” he insisted. He left them with that, and Sans was hardly an arm's reach away from the human. He didn't move, watching them out of the corner of his eye socket.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I don't understand,” Frisk murmured, and he almost didn't catch it. “I just... I don't understand.”

  
  


“Guess that makes two of us,” Sans shrugged. “So, uh. How long you playin' this game, kid?”

  
  


Frisk only looked at him with that hurt expression again.

  
  


“I-I don't...” they pulled at the tips of their hair, looking away and biting their lower lip. “Was... was it all a lie? Was it all just some big fat lie?”

  
  


Something was bothering him, tickling the back of his mind. Something wasn't adding up, and he didn't like it when all of the puzzle pieces didn't fit.

  
  


“You seem upset about somethin'...” he said calmly, finally taking a sip of the tea. It wasn't all that bad, actually.

  
  


“Why... why is he forgiving me?” Frisk's voice wavered, and he noticed that they seemingly had a hard time looking straight at him. “Just... why?”

  
  


“Paps sees a lot of good in people,” he shrugged. “Sometimes _even when it's not there.”_

  
  


Frisk cringed hard and hid their face in their hands, their shoulders shaking. They had already tried the crying bull once, he wasn't falling for it. He couldn't help but feel a light pang of guilt though. But if he gave into that, it would be exactly what they wanted, wouldn't it? He just had to stay stern and cold. Something familiar, at the very least. Negative reinforcements could work wonders sometimes, and if it helped to prevent them from pulling the same stunt as last time he could live with it.

  
  


 

  
  


“I... I unders-stand if-if you hate me,” Frisk whispered quietly, drawing their legs up and wrapping their arms around them, tea left forgotten on the couch beside them. “I... I hate me, too. I k-know that-that you probably w-wanna kill me. I... I understand. I deserve to be p-punished.”

  
  


Again, something wasn't quite adding up, and it was slowly driving him crazy. He didn't like when the equation came out wrong, there was something here that he wasn't seeing. He eventually rubbed the back of his head and sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he stared at them. They technically hadn't seemed to have done anything wrong in this timeline. Yet.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Look,” he said after a few moments of silence. “Kid. Maybe... maybe we started off on the wrong foot and all. I just wanna know somethin' first.”

  
  


Frisk didn't speak, but they did finally meet his gaze and nod once.

  
  


“Why'd you come back?”

  
  


 

  
  


They flinched hard and looked away, ashamed. Sans again couldn't help but feel that annoying tingling of guilt pressing in his chest, but he pushed it down anyway.

  
  


“Somebody... somebody told me one time that-that they believed in me,” Frisk said softly, staring down at their hands. “That... that I could do a little better.”

  
  


“Okay. So... why'd you do it?”

  
  


“I... I thought I had to,” Frisk whispered breathily, hiding their eyes in their hands again. Sans was irritated, but he couldn't let it show. Again things weren't adding up properly. There were too many variables unaccounted for.

  
  


“Why would you think that?” Sans asked after a few seconds of silence.

  
  


“When... when I f-first, um... fell. A t-talking flower told me that-that this world was 'kill or be killed'.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sighed internally.

  
  


Of course the damned _plant_ would be involved. When was it ever not?

  
  


More and more things were starting to click into place and he rubbed his face tiredly, bone scraping on bone as he sighed aloud.

  
  


 

  
  


“Kid,” Sans said as Frisk hid their face in their hands, rocking slowly back and forth. “I dunno much about the surface these days, but that is not how things work down here.”

  
  


They didn't respond, just continuing their rocking. Sans reached out against his better judgment and patted their back, causing them to yelp and flinch hard as if they had just been struck. Sans didn't draw away however, rubbing small circles on their back.

  
  


“I'm sorry,” they broke down completely as they blubbered miserably. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

  
  


“Tell... tell ya what,” Sans said after a moment. “You're sorry? You're really sorry?”

  
  


Frisk nodded furiously, wiping their eyes with their sleeves. He caught a glimpse of something on their arm, but couldn't quite determine what.

  
  


 

  
  


“You know what?” he gave a limp half shrug. “I guess I can forgive ya, too. On one condition.”

  
  


They stared at him worriedly, hand tracing circles at an odd spot on their thigh.

  
  


“No more resets,” he continued. “No more.”

  
  


“O-okay,” Frisk swallowed dryly. “I-I'll try-”

  
  


“Nope,” he drew his hand away promptly, folding them in his lap. “Not good enough. All or nothin'.”

  
  


“But-but...!” they looked at him in despair, pulling at their hair again. “I-I c-can't... I mean, if I, um... d-die. It just sort of... happens. I-I don't... I don't have a choice.”

  
  


 

  
  


That was an odd new bit of information. Maybe they didn't have quite the amount of control over time that he had initially assumed. He vaguely wondered just how many times they must have died in order to figure that out, and was hit with another unexpected wave of guilt that took far too much effort to bury.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Tell you what,” he said after a stretch of silence. “Nobody's perfect. How's about a proposition. You try real, real hard not to reset, and I'll try real hard to keep you from dyin'. That sound good to you?”

  
  


Frisk just swallowed again and nodded, looking away. There were so many things that he was still uncertain of, so many questions without answers. But maybe, just maybe, things would be different. They would be different.

  
  


 

  
  


Even if he had to make things different.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	2. Quiet Houses

-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans never wanted to hear the sounds of a silent household again.

  
  


Especially not after last time. He had spent so many countless hours, bottles littering the floor as he lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling and contemplating. He had gotten to the point where he couldn't even cry about it anymore. What was the point when it would all inevitably be reset, anyway? Having Papyrus back was just nice all on its own.

  
  


Having the anomaly in his home was significantly less so.

  
  


 

  
  


It was so utterly quiet that Sans felt a chill run up his spine. Papyrus was never this wordless, certainly not when he was making breakfast. There was almost the constant noisy clatter of pots and pans and other cooking implements as he savagely attacked his challenge, but this time he just seemed... quiet. It was unsettling. He sipped at his coffee that had been overloaded with far too much sugar, staring across the table at the anomaly. They didn't touch their drink, and they kept folding their fingers together like they were trying to hold their own hand. They pulled habitually at their sleeves for some reason, and Sans watched them the entire time. He felt so tired, but he couldn't take his eye sockets off of them for even a moment. It was all such an obvious trap, they were going to stab them the first chance that they got. Sans shot them a dirty look while Papyrus's back was turned, switching back to a friendly grin the moment that he turned back around.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Pancakes?” Sans asked in slight confusion. “Not, uh... breakfast spaghetti?”

  
  


“Well, Sans, I know how much you love my breakfast spaghetti,” Papyrus said lowly. “But I figured that it was a special occasion. Here you go, tiny human!” he said in a much more chipper tone, placing a stack of pancakes before the anomaly along with a bottle of syrup. They stared up at the skeleton cautiously, as if expecting him to pull it away at the last moment.

  
  


“... Well, go on!” Papyrus gestured to the nervous human as he sat between the two at the table, carving into his own helping of pancakes. “You know little one, I was thinking about showing you around Snowdin later. I know that we don't have very much, but there's plenty of room to run about outside of Snowdin if you'd like, I even have some fun puzzles set up for later! Are... are you alright?”

  
  


Frisk wiped their eyes with their sleeve suddenly, and it took Sans a moment to realize that he had been staring into his coffee. They nodded and swallowed, hair falling into their eyes.

  
  


“It's very good,” they said softly. “T-thank you so much, Papyrus.”

  
  


“Nyeh, don't worry about it. Save some room for extra though, we can have some popcorn later! Say,” Papyrus said after a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You know, I normally reserve pancakes for special occasions, and meeting you today was certainly special. We also have them for parties, birthdays – say, tiny human Frisk?” he clicked his fingers as if he had just thought of something. “That reminds me, when is your birthday?”

  
  


“I-I don't have a birthday...” Frisk mumbled, not meeting his gaze.

  
  


“What?” Papyrus scoffed. “Oh, come now. Everybody has a birthday. Even Sans and I have a birthday, it's on the same day! If you don't have a birthday, how can you tell how old you are?”

  
  


“O-oh,” Frisk blinked, counting on their hands for a moment before holding up their fingers. “Um. I'm-I'm ten.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans very firmly, very pointedly tried not to think about how he had brutally murdered a ten year old over two dozen times.

  
  


He was failing.

  
  


 

  
  


“T-ten, huh?” Sans tried to give a relaxed grin, leaning back in his chair and swirling his coffee around. “Man, kid. Were your parents dinosaurs? You're practically ancient.”

  
  


Even though he was trying to joke, the stabbing guilt rising in his chest wouldn't die down no matter how furiously he tried to kick it away. He shouldn't be feeling guilty. He did what he had to do. But that wasn't really true, and he knew it. He had done far worse than just kill them a couple of times. It was growing harder and harder to look at them and he returned his gaze to his drink, his mind feeling heavy.

  
  


“Well...” Papyrus mused aloud after a few moments of silence, standing and taking the plates to drop them into the sink. “Why not today?”

  
  


Frisk blinked up at him.

  
  


“... Today what?”

  
  


“Since you don't seem to have a birthday,” Papyrus stood before them with his hands on his hips. “Why not today? Or if you're not happy with that, why not a 'glad I met you human Frisk' day? That way you can keep track of how old you are and how long we've been friends! Nyeh heh heh.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans froze up when the anomaly darted forward in their chair, his magic prickling up instinctively to stop them, but he paused when he saw that they were hugging Papyrus tightly around the middle, trembling furiously.

  
  


“... That s-sounds wonderful,” Frisk said in a wavering voice. Papyrus only softly petted them on the head, his expression surprisingly pained for a moment. It was gone the next second that Sans tried to inspect it though. Maybe he had just imagined it. Too much stress, too much reliance on magic could make one see things. Sans had more experience with that than he would ever care to share. Papyrus picked up the shaking child and held them close to his chest, and Frisk appeared to be giving him the strongest little hug that they could manage. He kept an eye socket on the little freak nonetheless. They were a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off, he couldn't afford to tear his sight away from them for even a moment. Didn't Papyrus get it? Couldn't he just see past the stupid waterworks and see them for what they were? But on the other hand, they hadn't necessarily done anything wrong this time...

  
  


But that didn't mean they weren't still planning on stabbing them all in the back the first chance that they got.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Why don't we save exploring Snowdin for later?” Papyrus said quietly, pulling away and helping them to the floor. “How about you go pick out a movie for us all to watch, little one? I'll make some popcorn for everyone, we'll just have a day inside. How does that sound?”

  
  


Frisk (anomaly, human, freak, doesn't need a name) only nodded with a little smile, scampering off to the living room.

  
  


“Man, when did you get so good with kids Papyr- Paps?” Sans's words caught in his throat as he glanced over at his brother. The taller skeleton who normally exuded positivity and cheerfulness like a lamp radiates light had... darkened. The lights in his eye sockets were dim, his face was weary and heavy, his shoulders were slumped, and he looked more exhausted than Sans had ever seen him. In short, it was downright disturbing on every level. Papyrus wiped a hand down his face and gave a weak grin, but it was too late. Sans had seen through the veil, and very deeply wished that he hadn't. Papyrus only leaned toward him, ensuring out of the corner of his eye socket that Frisk was out of earshot.

  
  


 

  
  


“You need to take a look at their arms.”

  
  


Sans reeled, uncertainty hitting him in waves. What was he on about? Papyrus was never like this, and it was upsetting in a way that Sans didn't even know that he could be bothered. Papyrus was back to his normal boisterous self within moments however when he saw Frisk (anomaly, anomaly) standing in the kitchen doorway, holding up a little box.

  
  


 

  
  


“Oh, good, Mettaton Vs. Space Dragons,” Papyrus beamed down at them. “That one's a classic! I've got the popcorn going, why don't you help me set up the movie?”

  
  


Papyrus held out his hand for them and they hesitated, looking at him with worry.

  
  


“I... I'm sorry-” they started again, but Papyrus only shook his head with a small smile. They ever so tentatively took his hand, letting him lead them to the couch. Sans finished off his coffee and slipped in behind them, dropping onto one end of the couch while Papyrus sat on the other, Frisk between them both. They were clearly trying to avoid Sans's constant gaze, and it was painfully apparent that they were still afraid of him. That was a good thing. He much preferred that they be afraid of him. If they were too scared to try anything stupid, maybe they would stay on the straight and narrow for a little while. It was all so inevitable, really. He couldn't quite shake off the feeling of guilt, though. Frisk reached over to Papyrus's lap and munched on popcorn almost silently, and Sans sighed as the movie rolled.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Hey, kid,” Sans shrugged internally. Maybe he really had started off on the wrong foot. “You sure you wanna watch this movie? It's about the same as all of Mettaton's other movies. And by that I mean it's terrible.”

  
  


“Sans!” Papyrus chastised him. “How can you say something like that?”

  
  


“With my mouth,” he pointed to his smirk. He heard a light titter before he realized that it was coming from Frisk. He had heard them laugh before. Only once. But that cruel, high pitched mocking laughter that echoed down the Judgment Hall had sounded so... different, from how they were giggling now. Almost like they were a completely different person or something. It bothered him more than he was willing to acknowledge.

  
  


“Don't listen to him, little one,” Papyrus let out an annoyed grunt. “The only thing that even comes out of that mouth of his is a torrent of bad puns.”

  
  


“And the tongue,” Sans winked. “Don't forget the tongue.”

  
  


“... You have a tongue?” Frisk stared at him quietly.

  
  


“Uh. Yeah?” he blinked, opening his mouth to reveal his canines and letting his dimly glowing magical tongue slip out over his teeth. Their eyes widened significantly and they lurched back into Papyrus, their shoulders shaking a little. “What? Don't you have a tongue, kid?”

  
  


Frisk just mumbled something, their cheeks heated as they turned away with that expression that he couldn't identify.

  
  


“He's only messing with you,” Papyrus rubbed the top of their head softly.

  
  


“Is... is your tongue blue, too?” they looked up at the taller skeleton with a curious glance.

  
  


“Why would it be blue?” he gawked at them. After a moment he stuck out his tongue a little, letting the dim orange glow illuminate his features and making a bleh noise with a silly scrunched up face. Frisk giggled and shook their head. Sans felt a little lighter just hearing them laugh. He knew deep down that it couldn't last though. It was only a matter of time before they snapped and he would be kneeling over his brother's dust all over again.

  
  


 

  
  


“Hey, kid. You know the difference between popcorn and pea soup?”

  
  


Frisk only stared at him.

  
  


“You can pop corn but you can't pea soup.”

  
  


Frisk covered their smile with shaking hands, looking torn between laughing and bolting like a frightened rabbit.

  
  


“How can skeletons make funny faces?” Frisk kicked their little legs as they stared up at Papyrus, and it was clear that nobody was really interested in the movie. “Or have tongues?”

  
  


“Magic?” Papyrus blinked. “Doesn't yours glow?”

  
  


Frisk just shook out their head, hair falling in their eyes. They smiled up at Papyrus and turned with their back to Sans, and they must have done something because all of the color and energy just... drained from Papyrus. It was like Frisk (human, anomaly, freak, don't identify it, don't get too close) had leeched the life right out of his brother, and he started to reach out for him when Papyrus seemed to snap right back into the swing of everything, smiling kindly and patting them on the head.

  
  


 

  
  


“Can... can we just watch the movie?” Papyrus asked in an almost pleading tone, far, far too quiet to be normal. “It's-it's really not that bad. Let's just settle down for a while. Oh, here comes the good part where one of the camera guys falls into the set. Best fourth wall break in the movie. Mettaton sure is talented at writing movie scripts!”

  
  


 

  
  


The window shades were drawn and it was fairly dark inside. The 'movie' dragged on for hours and hours, and every so often the camera would start slipping away from the rectangular actor with petals falling around him. He couldn't blame the poor camera guy for falling asleep, Sans was about to do the same. He desperately wanted to rest, but he couldn't allow himself to close his weary eye sockets. He had to keep an eye on the human, had to ensure that Papyrus was safe. Frisk's eyes fell and dropped and they leaned toward Papyrus every now and then, but every time that they touched him they flinched hard and tried to sit up straight. They had a small blanket over their lap and after the sixth time that they started to fall asleep only to jerk themselves awake Papyrus gently started petting their head. They flinched again at the contact, but he didn't pull away. Eventually Frisk began snoozing quietly as they leaned against him, one hand in their lap and the other clenching and unclenching at nothing as they slept. Sans wanted to fall asleep too, but he caught the look that Papyrus was giving him, nodding inconspicuously toward the human. Sans felt a small surge of anger. Papyrus was never this subtle. It was just one more way that the anomaly had ripped away any remaining semblance of normalcy in his life, and even when everything reset he would still remember how his brother had changed. He eventually shook off his anger though, Papyrus's words ringing in his head.

  
  


 

  
  


He carefully, gently peeled up the sleeve of the human's shirt, unable to see much of what Papyrus wanted him to see. The sleeve of their striped jumper rose a bit more as he inspected their arm, uncertainty filling his head. He sincerely wished that he hadn't seen anything at all. Their wrists were scarred and cut in strange little patterns, and he couldn't determine whether or not they were self inflicted. Rows of little circular burns on their arms in random places showed dimly in what light there was, and Sans felt a little sick. He could spot what might have been rope burns on their wrists, and the more he stared the more it occurred to him that maybe not all of these jagged, painful looking marks were done by themselves. He glanced up at Papyrus, but the taller skeleton only shook his head with a frown, motioning for him to turn their arm over. Sans didn't necessarily want to, just looking at the injuries was bad enough. But he turned their arm over slowly anyway so as not to wake them.

  
  


He genuinely wished that he hadn't.

  
  


 

  
  


Track marks.

  
  


There were track marks from needles running all up their arm, placed too finely, too perfectly aligned to be done by anyone other than a professional. Sans's hand found its way to his mouth and he ground his teeth, his mind whirring in a tornado of anger, confusion, disgust and uncertainty. He slowly rolled their sleeve back down to cover their... marks, but it was already too late. He had seen something that was probably going to haunt him for a while. Not like he needed more nightmares. He couldn't bring himself to speak, and eventually realized that he wasn't even breathing. Sans glanced up to see Papyrus nodding gently to the kitchen, and Sans bowed his head once in silent agreement. He slipped off the couch and Papyrus ever so slowly, carefully, gently pulled away from the human to let them sleep. After a moment he leaned over them and tucked them in with their small blanket, giving their head a few soft strokes before following his brother into the kitchen.

  
  


 

  
  


“Shit,” Sans muttered, running a hand over his sweaty head. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

  
  


“We really do need to implement that swear jar,” Papyrus leaned against the door frame, rubbing his wrists awkwardly. “But, yes. I do agree. Shit.”

  
  


“What happened?” he breathed heavily, feeling strongly like being ill. “Some-somebody... oh god. Oh, god, Paps, some-somebody hurt this kid.”

  
  


Maybe even more than he did.

  
  


“Who would do something like this, Sans?” Papyrus asked with a frown, glancing over his shoulder at the darkened living room with the dancing shadows cast by the television. “Just... why? Why would-would someone harm a-a child?”

  
  


Plenty of reasons, he thought grimly to himself, but didn't dare speak it aloud. Instead his brows furrowed as he began to pace, he was feeling too tired, too unnerved, too sick, too disturbed. How long had the kid been like that? Why would anyone do something like that to somebody, let alone a little kid? What in the hell was going on in his life anymore? He had so many questions, and no answers to be found, and it was absolutely maddening.

  
  


 

  
  


“... We gotta do somethin' about this,” Sans began carefully. He didn't want Papyrus to get the wrong idea. He could probably just tell him that he would walk them to somewhere safer, and dump the body when he got the chance. Maybe that bottomless pit in Waterfall would work. If there really was no bottom then it would be a long time before they died, which meant that he could actually have some peace and quiet before another reset occurred. For some reason just thinking about that made him feel physically ill. Why would he even care? That thing was a freak. A brother murdering, monster crushing, soul shattering anomaly. And no matter how many times he repeated that to himself, he still couldn't shake the feeling that maybe the garbage was where he really belonged.

  
  


“We can't take them to Undyne,” Papyrus said after a minute, running a gloved hand down his face with a sigh. “I mean, I-I know that any humans we capture are supposed to be taken to her, but-but the little one, I... I'm worried, Sans,” he continued softly, not meeting his gaze and instead staring at his boots. “They're... they're so thin. Are human children supposed to be that scrawny? And I mean, did you see the way that they eat? They scarfed down food like I was going to snatch it away from them or something! What-whatever happened to that poor child, I cannot even...”

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus took a long, slow, deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nostril bone, eye sockets flaring with a quiet but fiery anger. It was gone within a moment though, and Sans really had to wonder if he had even seen it at all.

  
  


“Whoever... did that, to a child?” Papyrus seethed with hidden fury. “I want to believe that everyone can be a good person. I really, really do. But... but things like-like this?” he cast an arm back to the living room, his wavering voice rising no matter how hard he tried to keep it down. “It... it hurts. It makes me start to wonder, to really doubt that everyone can be a good person, Sans. And it hurts. God, Sans. It hurts so much.”

  
  


 

  
  


Even when they weren't killing everyone in sight, they were still hurting his brother.

  
  


Sans's fists clenched and unclenched as he turned away, stuffing his hands into his pockets and trying not to let his absolutely boiling rage scorching his bones be revealed to his brother. He took a few breaths, pacing around the kitchen as Papyrus stared. What was their plan? Was this all just some game that they were playing with them? What in the actual hell had that kid been through? There were so many variables unaccounted for. Too many questions without answers. Before it had been the flower with the power to reset the world, he had studied it so many times that he could clearly recall every petal from memory. It made it difficult to do when he had to keep pretending that he didn't know about the resets. That thing had caused so much trouble, so many times. But ever since the kid came, the flower had made itself scarce, and whenever the anomaly died the world would reset. Did the kid and the flower have that much in common? Were they in leagues with each other? Did they both have the same power? Were they just messing with them out of boredom or something? He wouldn't put it past them. Humans tended to get bored easily. But Frisk (anomaly, freak, dirty brother killer, don't give it a name) had told him that they didn't have complete control over the timelines. Could he even trust that they were telling the truth? That if they died they had no choice but to reset?

  
  


And if they ever relapsed...

  
  


Well.

  
  


He could always force a reset to occur...

  
  


There again was that unpleasant guilty feeling that made his soul itch.

  
  


 

  
  


“We... we gotta do somethin',” Sans rubbed the back of his head eventually. And by 'something' he meant dump them off for someone else to take care of, Sans couldn't handle this right now, he was way too sober.

  
  


“We can't just throw them out,” Papyrus said pleadingly, rubbing his hands together nervously. “We-we just can't, Sans. I... I really don't think they'll make it very far.”

  
  


“You'd be surprised,” Sans grumbled under his breath before shaking his head and clearing his throat. “I... I dunno, Paps. I don't know if we can-”

  
  


“Let me rephrase that,” he found a firm purchase on the door frame, fist clenching so tightly that he could have sworn that he was starting to hear wood splinter. “I am not throwing them out, they are hurt and they need help, and by god I am going to help Sans!” he was steadily growing louder and shaking, his free hand jittering hard. “They need our help, they were hurt and they're-they're just a child!”

  
  


“Alright, alright!” Sans held up his hands defensively. “J-Jeeze, bro. You... you don't hafta shout. Wasn't... wasn't gonna suggest throwin' 'em out into the snow,” he lied with a small forced smile. “I mean, I'm not that... cold hearted.”

  
  


“... Sans, are you really making puns right now.”

  
  


“It's a coping mechanism, bite me. I'm an ice hole sometimes.”

  
  


“Sans, oh my god,” Papyrus rubbed a hand down his face, but he could still see the little grin on his brother's face. Sans was kind of surprised to see that there really was a new hand mark on the door frame, but he ignored it. “Seriously, your puns are just the worst.”

  
  


“Ayy, gimme a break, bro. Don't gimme the cold shoulder.”

  
  


“Sans I swear to god I will disown you.”

  
  


“Snow problem, bro.”

“One of us was adopted, I just know it.”

  
  


“How could you be so cold to me, bro?” Sans grinned up at him expectantly.

  
  


“There is snow way you could have any more cold puns,” Papyrus deadpanned. Then he facepalmed himself with a quiet groan, making Sans snicker somewhat proudly.

  
  


“Icy what you did there,” he winked at him, and Papyrus only shook his head, but he still smiled regardless.

  
  


“You really are a terrible influence, you know that?” Papyrus sighed and rubbed his weary eye sockets. They simply stood there for a while in silence, listening to the dim sounds of the television in the next room.

  
  


 

  
  


“... We need to form a plan of action,” Papyrus said after a moment, pounding his fist into his hand.

  
  


“What would you suggest? I'm all ears,” Sans grinned at him, but cringed a little from the look that his brother gave him. “Uh. That last one really wasn't on purpose.”

  
  


“We can't just hand them over to Undyne,” he rubbed his chin with one hand.

  
  


“Yeah,” Sans nodded once. “Doing that would be pretty much outta the question. Probably wouldn't end too well. You, uh, know how she is about humans.”

  
  


“Maybe we could... I-I don't know...” Papyrus tapped his fingers together awkwardly. “Maybe... k-keep them?”

  
  


“You mean like-?”

  
  


“Not like a pet,” Papyrus frowned hard, and Sans had to fight back the urge to tell his brother that things like that deserved to be on a leash. He wondered what they would look like with a leash momentarily, but brushed the thought from his worried mind. “They're... they're just... just hurt, Sans. They talked about hurting others, and-and I... I know that they haven't done anything wrong. I think. And I also think I know why they might have done that. They're just hurt, and scared, and maybe lashing out is the only way that they know how to respond. Someone must have done something terrible to them to make them want to do such awful things. I can save them from going down that path. I know I can. Everyone can be a good person if they just try. I have to help them, Sans. I have to.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans stood in stunned silence. He ran a hand over his head again with a heavy sigh, closing his eye sockets for a moment before sticking his hands back in his pockets.

  
  


“I'm... I'm gonna go to Grillby's,” he said quietly. “You... you want anything?”

  
  


“I'm fine, Sans,” he shook his head. “Just... come back somewhat sober? Please?”

  
  


It ached, it hurt the way that his brother looked at him, and San cringed inwardly knowing that he had absolutely no such intention.

  
  


“Y-yeah,” he nodded after a moment, swallowing dryly. “Yeah. Sure thing, Paps. Just, uh... c-call me. As soon as they wake up. Send me a message or something, as soon as they start movin'.”

  
  


“I'll have the phone ready...” he answered after a few seconds.

  
  


“I won't even be gone that long,” he tried to say nonchalantly. “Probably be back before the movie is even over, just gotta talk to Grillbz about a few things is all.”

  
  


“I won't take my eye sockets off of them,” Papyrus nodded firmly. Sans thanked him quietly and slipped out the front door, throwing one last look at the human sleeping on their couch. Papyrus was left in absolute quiet as he settled back down onto the couch, sighing heavily. After a while he leaned back into the couch and flipped the television off, letting the darkness swarm over him. He could have sworn that he felt eyes on him, but there was nobody there. He only patted Frisk softly on the head, closing his eye sockets and just staying like that for a while.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus never wanted to hear the sound of a quiet household ever again.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	3. Crouching Fish, Hidden Skeleton

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sometimes, Sans found himself wishing for a clock.

  
  


 

  
  


It wasn't as if clocks were hard to come by in the Underground. Far from it, actually. However, most of the clocks had different times, and since there was no real way to see the sun it was rather difficult to tell which clock had the right time, so most monsters went without one. Or at least, the ones that Sans knew. He wouldn't mind having one every now and then, just to have something to fill the silence. However, the more that he thought about it the less that he actually wanted one. The very last thing that he wanted was yet another plastic reminder of the passage of time. He sighed quietly and leaned his head back against the wall, eye sockets half lidded as he stared at the lump on the couch.

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk (anomaly, that's _all they are_ ) lay slumbering on the sofa, curled up in a tight little ball under one of Papyrus's spare small red blankets. They just looked so... tiny. He mused quietly to himself for a while, wondering precisely how something so small could have possibly wreaked so much havoc in another life. Sans stared through the dark at them, his eye sockets drooping tiredly. He really was starting to wish for the ticking of a clock, something, anything to fill the awful silence. He hid a yawn and tried to make himself more comfortable, not taking his gaze off of their unmoving form. It was all such an obvious act. He couldn't afford to take his eye sockets off of them, not even for a moment. It was only a matter of time before they waited until he was asleep and closed their grubby little fist around the first sharp object that they found and resumed what they started. They couldn't fool him. He knew what nobody else remembered. He knew what they were, really. A murderer.

  
  


_Just like me._

  
  


 

  
  


That thought always came with a dilemma. Was he _really_ any better than them, after all was said and done? They both remembered things that nobody else could. They could both do things that nobody else could, see the world the way that it really was when everyone else was blind. And to a certain extent, they could both manipulate the world around them. Technically, they could live without... consequence.

  
  


That thought was a _highly_ disturbing and unpleasant one, and wouldn't quite let itself be brushed aside easily. He knew for a fact that living without consequence... _changed_ a person, and not in a good way. He had witnessed it, lived it once. The memory of his actions would haunt him for the rest of his life. He shivered a little, closing his weary eye sockets and trying to clear his mind. He let out a quiet sigh as he reclined against the wall, sinking into himself as he listened to the quiet ticking of a clock-

  
  


 

  
  


_I don't have a clock._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans jolted awake, uncertain of how long he had been asleep and mentally kicking himself. The word paranoid bounced eagerly around his head. He was just so damned tired. He glanced for Frisk immediately, noting that they had shifted in their sleep to lay on their side, knees pulled up tightly to their chest as they shivered beneath the blanket. Sans slowly pushed himself up off the floor and stood to his (not very impressive) full height, staring down at the child curled up on his couch. He picked up some of the popcorn from the floor and tossed it to their pet rock before shaking his head and returning to stand before the human. His fists clenched and unclenched before he stuck them in his pockets, letting out a quiet sigh through his teeth. Then he walked away, starting for the kitchen. The image of them lying there shivering, with that soft, pained expression on their sleeping face wouldn't leave him, though. He stood there for almost a full minute, contemplating deeply.

  
  


Eventually, he returned to Frisk with one of his spare blankets, draping it over their small sleeping form. He gave them a single pat on the head before turning and leaving them, skeletal eyebrows furrowed as he set about making coffee in the kitchen. It was something to distract himself. He didn't want to think about how miserable and freezing Frisk (anomaly, anomaly goddammit) was in their sleep, didn't want to look into his actions. He didn't care about them. He was just doing the good thing, like Papyrus would have done. He was being a good samaritan. That was all. Sans poured himself a cup of coffee and added far too much sugar, dropping into the kitchen chair and sighing heavily.

  
  


 

  
  


What was he _doing_.

  
  


He had the anomaly in his house. This mass murdering thing being this close to him, this close to his brother made him supremely uneasy. And yet, it was growing steadily harder and harder to feel any kind of fear about them the longer that he mulled over it. They were just so small. But Sans knew better than most not to let size deceive him. He drank deeply from his coffee, letting the warmth wash down his throat and he let out another quiet sigh. He slowly let his head hit the table, bouncing off of the wood with a soft thunk, thunk, thunk.

  
  


The freakin' _anomaly_ was on his _couch_.

  
  


“What am I doing,” Sans muttered to no one, closing his aching eyes. “What in the actual _fuck_ am I doing with my life.”

  
  


 

  
  


As if in answer from the universe itself, Sans heard a loud rapping at the front door. Sans sighed again, wondering who would bother at this time in the morning. He checked himself over, glancing to his worn slippers, his slightly torn jacket, the stain on his shirt and his shorts wearing thin.

  
  


Presentable enough.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans groaned and pushed himself out of the chair, dragging himself with scraping feet to the front door to silence the knocking.

  
  


“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled as he pried open the door. “You know, knock knock jokes are usually a lot funnier when-when... uh... Uh.”

  
  


“Uh?” Undyne stood before him with her hands on her hips, armor gleaming in the dim light. “Man. Your knock knock jokes are getting worse every day.”

  
  


“Undyne,” Sans tried to say as casually as he could, pulling the door a little closer and doing his absolute best to ignore the panicked screaming inside his head. “Good morning. What's the trick, fish stick?”

  
  


Undyne gave him a level glare, her eye narrowing.

  
  


“You mind telling me why you and Paps weren't at your posts yesterday?” she glowered down at him, crossing her arms. Sans resisted the urge to draw the door closed a little further, struggling to steady his breathing.

  
  


_Don't fuck up. Don't let her see. For the love of god don't fuck up. Just please do this one thing right oh god don't fuck up don't make me kill her don't fuck up you can do this oh god just don't fuck up-!_

  
  


 

  
  


“Paps is... sick,” Sans lied instantly. “Not feelin' too well, I've been takin' care of him.”

  
  


“Since when do skeletons get sick?” Undyne stared at him suspiciously.

  
  


“Skeletons don't have _immune systems_ to fight off germs,” he shrugged simply.

  
  


“Well, how am _I_ supposed to know how weird ass skeleton biology works?” she grunted at him.

  
  


“He-he just needs some hot soup and bed rest,” Sans tried to keep is voice from cracking, the panic clawing its way through his chest. His fist was squeezing tightly against the door frame so badly that he was shaking despite his best efforts to remain still.

  
  


_Don't fuck up. Don't let her see them. Don't fuck up. Whatever you do, don't fuck up._

  
  


 

  
  


“Just, uh...” Undyne's arms dropped to her side, and she deflated visibly. Sans tried not to show just how relieved he was too see her backing down. “Just tell him to get _better_ already. And that's an order! That punk missed training this morning. He _never_ misses training.”

  
  


“He'll be up and about like it was nothing in no time,” Sans said, sweating heavily. “He'll be fine.”

  
  


“Yeah, well, he'd better!” Undyne harrumphed. “I'm gonna get that nerd some super soup, not any of that crap in a can you're probably feeding him. Be back in like an hour punk, gotta go talk to a friend real quick!”

  
  


“Yeah that's-that's great-!” Sans started to call after her, a half formed pun about souper soup on his tongue before he dropped it, quietly closing the front door behind him as he retreated inside. He gave a shaking, breathy sigh of relief as he sank against the door and down to the floor, clutching his aching chest. That was... _terrifying_ , for lack of a better word. Not just that Undyne was here, not that she had nearly seen his little secret. But if she did?

  
  


Sans was scared senseless from the fact that he knew; he wouldn't have even thought about it, wouldn't have hesitated killing her where she stood.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans stared over at the slumbering human in disgust, utterly oblivious to the danger that they had narrowly avoided. Sans's mind was flying at a hundred miles an hour, his soul hammering in his chest. He had very nearly killed his boss, his friend. And for what? To prevent her from finding out about his dirty secret? To protect Papyrus's precious image? To save his own (heh) skin? And, if he had been forced to kill Undyne...?

  
  


Well.

  
  


He wouldn't have a choice but to... _reset_.

  
  


 

  
  


“What am I doing,” he let the back of his head hit the wooden door as he groaned miserably. “What in the actual _fuck_ am I _doing_ with my life.”

  
  


God, he really was repulsive. He was considering slaughtering a child in their sleep because he made a mistake. Sans rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, forcing himself to stand and dragging himself to the kitchen. He started to reach for his coffee before shrugging and turning to one of the cabinets, reaching all the way into the back and drawing his fist out with the neck of a glass bottle, full to the brim of amber liquid. He poured some of Grillby's best cider out of the bottle and into his half empty mug, replacing the bottle and drinking heavily. He let the warmth spread through his bones, letting out a quiet sigh. He had very nearly killed them, just to save himself, and god how he loathed himself. He couldn't think of them wearing that face, that sad little stare full of mercy. He had to think of them as the anomaly. Not... not anything else. Not some dumb little brat that nobody would miss. Not as a living, breathing, thinking, feeling creature. Not as a person. Not as a helpless ten year old kid.

  
  


_That you nearly butchered in their sleep._

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans?”

  
  


Sans jolted and spun on the spot, cheeks lightly dusted as he stared down at the human. They stood with the little blanket draped over their shoulder, rubbing their eyes sleepily as they stared at him clutching his chest.

  
  


“Christ on a _bike_ , kid,” Sans gave a weak laugh, rubbing his chest. “Good thing I'm a skeleton, you almost gave me a _heart attack_. You're quiet as a cat sometimes, you know that?”

  
  


Frisk shifted uncomfortably and danced from foot to foot, frowning and rubbing their stomach. Sans let out a quiet breath through his teeth, rubbing the back of his head with his spare hand as the guilt began to dig its way through his middle.

  
  


 

  
  


“Hey,” he said after a moment. “You, uh... you hungry, kid?” Sans placed his mug on the table, digging around in the refrigerator for a moment. “C'mon, grab a seat. They've got legs, but I'm pretty sure they're not gonna walk away or anythin'. Let me know if they do.”

  
  


Frisk silently crawled up onto one of the wooden chairs, blanket pulled around their shoulders as they watched him busy himself about the kitchen. He dropped a couple slices of bread in the beaten up toaster, making bacon and eggs as he worked.

  
  


“You know,” Sans said after a stretch of silence, flipping the bacon while he cooked. “Something always bugged me about bacon. I mean, you cook bacon, but you bake cookies. How weird is that?”

  
  


Frisk tittered lightly, and just from hearing the sound, he felt a little... lighter, just a bit. He even gave a tired whistle as he listened to the sound of the clock-

  
  


Sans shook his head fiercely, forcing himself to focus. There was no clock. He was starting to lose it. Sleep deprivation, maybe. It was making him hear things that weren't there. He could still hear it, somewhere. That soft little clicking noise, almost like bone. He tried to ignore the word crazy pushing itself to the forefront of his mind. After a little bit he heard a heavy thumping of someone barreling down the stairs, and he turned on the spot to see a pajamad Papyrus clutching the doorway, panting with wide eye sockets.

  
  


 

  
  


“Where is it?” Papyrus blurted, head whipping back and forth. “What's on fire?”

  
  


“Nothing's on fire,” Sans grinned up at him. “I'm making breakfast.”

  
  


Papyrus only gawked at him for a few moments before rolling up his pajama sleeve and pinching his forearm.

  
  


“... Is this happening?” Papyrus stared at him blankly. “Because this _can't_ be happening.”

  
  


“What?” Sans frowned slightly.

  
  


“This,” Papyrus threw out an arm to the kitchen. “Since when can you cook?”

  
  


“I can cook,” he replied a little too defensively, smacking the spatula to his chest and adding to his collection of stains. “I cook all the time. I'm a _great_ cook!”

  
  


“Sans, the only thing I've _ever_ seen you 'cook',” he made air quotes with a deadpan. “Is a water sausage on a paper plate. Since _when_ do you cook?”

  
  


“Who do you think used to cook for you when you were a babybones?” Sans scoffed.

  
  


“You know full well I don't remember that,” he crossed his arms, and Sans cringed.

  
  


“R-right. Sorry, bro.”

  
  


“Nyeh. Don't worry about it, brother,” Papyrus sighed quietly before taking a step and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Breakfast smells fantastic, you're doing _great_ , Sans.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans turned so that his brother wouldn't see the dusting of blue crossing his cheeks. Papyrus complimented people all the time, but hearing genuine praise from his brother always seemed to get to him. He cleared his throat and focused on making breakfast, setting a plate of fresh eggs and bacon before them at the table. Papyrus sat between him and Frisk, and Sans sipped quietly at his 'coffee' as Frisk looked uncertainly back and forth between them. Almost like they were waiting for permission or something. He just gestured at them to eat, and they wasted no time in tucking in to their meal, wolfing it down like it would be pulled away from them if they didn't eat fast enough. There again was that unpleasant feeling in the back of his mind, but he brushed it away.

  
  


Papyrus was still eating when Frisk had finished early, swallowing their last bite and nodding gratefully to Sans.

  
  


“... Thank you,” they said simply, and he shrugged.

  
  


“Hey, it's just breakfast. That's, like, the third most important meal of the day. Next to lunch. And brunch. And supper. And dinner. And lupper. And linner. And dunch, and brepper-”

  
  


“Sans oh my _god_ ,” Papyrus pinched the bridge of his nostril bone as Sans chortled to himself.

  
  


“Am... am, um, am I-I allowed to ask a question...?” Frisk asked after a few moments of silence as Sans sipped at his coffee.

  
  


“Of course you are, little one,” Papyrus said in a tone much softer than Sans was expecting from him with a little smile. “What is on your mind, tiny human?”

  
  


“Um. B-baby... bones...?” they looked up at him with confusion plain on their features. Papyrus only chuckled and shook his head.

  
  


“Well, of course!” he replied chipperly. “Big skeletons used to be little skeletons. Didn't you know that? That's just basic science.”

  
  


“Um... what-what is it that you don't remember?” Frisk asked curiously, turning their fork around their plate. “What was that all about?”

  
  


Sans and Papyrus shared an extremely uncomfortable look, and Sans only shook his head before placing his coffee on the table slowly. Papyrus grunted in annoyance and slid a coaster underneath it when he wasn't looking.

  
  


 

  
  


“Paps had an... _accident_ when he was a kid,” Sans shrugged. “That's all you need to know.”

  
  


“What kind of accident?” Frisk blinked, kicking their little legs back and forth. He wanted to sigh again. They really did have all the tact of a ten year old, and the longer that he let that thought sink in the harder and harder that it got to think of them as just the anomaly. Neither of them answered and Frisk seemed supremely unsatisfied, but that didn't stop them from helping Papyrus with the dishes. He peeled off his gloves and Frisk stood on their tiptoes to hand him dishes, beaming toothily up at him to show that they were helping. Papyrus's face softened a bit and he patted them on the head, humming a familiar tune that Sans could have sworn he'd heard a few times in Waterfall as he busied himself. Sans just lost himself in the rest of his drink, letting it warm his aching bones. For just a while, he could just... be. Let everything sink in. It still seemed so surreal to have Frisk (human? Anomaly?) in his home, helping his brother with the dishes and chatting happily with him about some spaghetti recipe. He wasn't even listening at this point, just resting his head in his hands and thinking. It really was completely bizarre. What kind of game were they playing at? What was the point? Where was the purpose?

  
  


 

  
  


But Sans's mind was inevitably drawn back to the marks on their arm. The puncture wounds, the bruises, the cuts, the burns. A light chill began to roll down his spine as a new, very unpleasant thought occurred to him.

  
  


If that was just their arm...

  
  


What did the _rest_ of them look like?

  
  


 

  
  


He just swirled the last of his drink before downing it, delighting in the warmth in his bones. He could finally relax, somewhat, for just a little bit. He could let the drink chase his thoughts away, and just pretend that things were normal.

  
  


Sans's eye lights narrowed to pinpricks as they heard a resounding boom echo through the house. Sans suddenly felt much, much smaller as he heard the familiar shouting, and he could not mentally kick himself enough.

  
  


 

  
  


_Oh. Right. An hour. Man I need a clock._

  
  


 

  
  


“Alright, nerds!” Undyne bounded into the kitchen with a burst of cold wind, grinning widely. She wore a brightly colored green sweater with a little smiling fish sewed onto the front, wearing jeans with something in her pockets. “Get ready to chug get well soup 'til you _puke_ , 'cause today-! Uh... t-today...”

  
  


Undyne froze up suddenly as she stared at the little human quivering in their seat, struggling to hide behind their blanket. Sans was off his chair in a split second, magic rushing through his body and into his head, a flash of blue almost blinding him as a spear went tearing through the air directly at Frisk's face-

  
  


 

  
  


And then she paused.

  
  


The long, conjured fibula with a sharpened, jagged end blocked her windpipe, and she gawked in dull shock at her attacker. Sans wasn't even certain of how to process what he was witnessing.

  
  


_Papyrus_ was stopping her.

  
  


_Papyrus_.

  
  


 

  
  


“Undyne. Buddy,” Papyrus said in a calm tone, right eye twinkling with a dangerously burning orange fire. “Do the smart thing. _Don't_.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	4. I'm Always Okay

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“Undyne. Buddy. Do the smart thing. _Don't_.”

  
  


 

  
  


Undyne stood in utter shock at the proceeds of events, staring down at the sharpened femur leveled at her throat. The words that fell from Papyrus's mouth were cold, clipped, deadly. She glanced back and forth between the skeleton brothers and the human, eventually staring back at Papyrus, swallowing slightly and her throat brushed against the tip of the sharpened bone weapon, but she didn't drop her spear. She even held the thermos of soup in her other hand as if it were a weapon. Sans could feel the intense magical energy flooding through the room, through his bones and into his head. The pressure was steadily increasing as he shifted along the wall, ready to jump into action at a moment's notice.

  
  


“Papyrus,” Undyne said slowly, dangerously. “What in the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!”

  
  


“That's... no way to greet a new pal, Undyne,” Papyrus ever so slowly lowered his bone weapon, looking at her slightly sadly, his conjured weapon fizzling out of existence. “Please. I am offering you mercy here, Undyne. Please, _please_ accept it.”

  
  


 

  
  


He stood before her and ever so gradually opened his arms, spreading them wide and looking at her pleadingly.

  
  


“Come on, Undyne,” Papyrus said slowly. “It doesn't have to be like this.”

  
  


 

  
  


_Okay, Sans. This is it. Paps has finally lost his mind because of the anomaly. This is going to go shit shaped any moment, everything is gonna go to hell, something is going to break and there's going to be dust on my hands and then blood because oh god please don't I can't live without him oh god think of something you idiot think of something...!_

  
  


 

  
  


“Papyrus,” Undyne growled in a guttural tone. “You-you threatened –“

  
  


“I stopped you from doing something that you would have very much regretted doing,” Papyrus said simply, gently lowering his arms and holding out his hands, almost like he was trying to calm a spooked animal, but the dangerous gleam in his eye sockets didn't fade. “Now, if it's not too much trouble, I really would like it if we could all put our _weapons_ away...” he brushed the tip of the spear away from Frisk's face, who was sitting absolutely stock still with wide eyes and pale face. “And sit down and talk about this like good friends.”

  
  


“Have you lost your _goddamned_ _mind_?” Undyne bellowed. Sans made to move toward her but was frozen by a single glance from Papyrus stilled him almost instantly. “Papyrus, do you even _realize_ what that thing is?”

  
  


“That 'thing', as you so delicately put it,” he replied calmly. “Is my friend. And you are also my friend. That does make the whole 'attempted murder' stuff a little bit awkward though-”

  
  


 

  
  


_Oh my god Paps are you serious you cannot talk your way out of this one do something already...!_

  
  


 

  
  


Sans inched closer and closer to Frisk behind them, summoned magic pounding and thrashing in his aching head. He needed to release it, needed to get it out of his system before something awful happened, he wasn't good at holding it in for this long and it was pushing him over his limit. He contemplated silently just putting the anomaly down there and then. It would be so much simpler. But he didn't want to consider it. If things went pear shaped, he would undoubtedly hold Papyrus's life as greater value over theirs.

  
  


 

  
  


_Bone right through the cranium. Probably wouldn't even feel it. Nice and quick._

  
  


 

  
  


They probably wouldn't even feel it. Maybe. It wasn't like he hadn't killed them before. What was one more time? He felt so vile, so foul for thinking it. He couldn't risk Papyrus's life over the anomaly-

  
  


Over Frisk.

  
  


_Their name is Frisk._

  
  


_The child who trusted me._

  
  


_The child who is depending on me to live._

  
  


_God help me what in the actual_ fuck _am I doing with my life._

  
  


 

  
  


“Papyrus,” Undyne stared back and forth between the brothers, clearly exasperated. “Come on. This thing-”

  
  


“ _Enough_ ,” Sans's hand found its way to Frisk's shoulder, and they tensed up silently at his grip. They looked as if they weren't certain of who to be more terrified of. That was fine with him. If things went wrong, he could always... try again.

  
  


_Dirty promise breaker._

  
  


_Come on. Please. Don't do this. Think of something. You have to figure something out. Use your damned head for once. It would be so easy to just snap their filthy fucking neck no no no no come on get it together, get it together...!_

  
  


 

  
  


“... Look,” Sans felt his magic ebb and slip away, leaving him with a pounding migraine. “Stop callin' the kid a _thing_. It's not cool. A'ight?”

  
  


“So _this_ is what you were doing while you were 'sick'?” Undyne slowly pulled the spear a couple of inches away from Frisk, glowering at Papyrus.

  
  


“I wasn't sick,” Papyrus stared blankly at her.

  
  


“No, Paps,” Sans said with a quiet sigh. “I told her you were sick.”

  
  


“... But I'm not sick,” he blinked.

  
  


“I know, Paps. I lied.”

  
  


“Sans!” Papyrus turned to him, placing both his hands on his hips. Frisk suddenly became much more interested in something on him, but Sans didn't focus on it. “It's not good to lie to your friends, brother. Deceit only results in more deceit.”

  
  


“I know, Paps...” Sans rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. “I was... kinda worried about somethin' else at the time.”

  
  


 

  
  


Undyne coughed loudly, glowering at them, clearly irritated at being momentarily forgotten. Sans shifted awkwardly, but didn't want to try reaching for magic again. He was so tired.

  
  


“Papyrus,” Undyne said firmly, giving him a level glare. “Come on. You can't be seriously considering keeping that thing.”

  
  


Papyrus's fists clenched so tightly that Sans heard them _crack_.

  
  


“... Right,” Papyrus said calmly, but Sans could see that his hands (ah, his gloves were off, so that was what Frisk was looking at) were shaking. “Undyne. Buddy. _Pal_. What did I _just_ say about calling them a _thing_.”

  
  


“Y-yeah, well...” Undyne actually backed away a step from the downright withering glare that the skeleton was giving her, her weapon fizzling out with a small static burst. “I mean, just... come-come on! Papyrus! This is _literally_ treason!”

  
  


“Helping someone is _treason_ now?” Papyrus scoffed, crossing his arms tightly. “Then consider me guilty.”

  
  


“Paps,” Undyne pinched the bridge of her nose, looking to Sans futilely for help. “Listen. You have, uh, o-officially claimed your spot on the royal guard. Just let me take it – them – to Asgore.” Papyrus suddenly looked very, very uncomfortable, glancing between her and the human.

  
  


“... What?” he blinked again. “I-I don't...”

  
  


“Just hand 'em over,” Undyne said simply, holding out a hand toward Frisk, a pained expression on her face.

  
  


Sans's grip on Frisk's shoulder tightened intensely, the rage slowly broiling over inside of him.

  
  


 

  
  


She was using his own goals, his own lifelong dream against him. It wasn't just cold, it was manipulative, it was cruel, it was downright _sick_. Sans had to fight to keep his fury down, and it dimly occurred to him that he was probably beginning to hurt Frisk with how tightly he was grasping their shoulder. But she had hurt Papyrus. She had hurt him, Undyne who had promised to protect him and she was hurting him and the evil bitch deserved to die and he could feel the magic swarming through his head-

  
  


“No, Undyne.”

  
  


“S-sorry?”

  
  


“I am too, Undyne,” Papyrus said sadly, deflating a bit. Sans cringed at the sound of his brother's voice. He just sounded so worn out. Beaten down. Drained. Defeated. “But I can't allow you to take my friend, Undyne. I'm... not really certain why it's so important for you to bring Asgore a _corpse_ , but I really think that things would be better for everyone involved if you at least sat down and tried to be friends.”

  
  


“Do you want to?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans peeled away from the human, the first time of them speaking in a long while. Their blanket was discarded to the floor and they sat with their legs pulled up to their chest on the chair.

  
  


“What?” Undyne balked at them, as if surprised that they could even speak at all from how silent they had been. The silence that followed, however, was almost deafening.

  
  


“Do you – do you wanna be friends?” Frisk asked in a quiet tone, looking up at her hopefully. “Do you just want somebody to talk to? B-because I'm real good at listening. I k-know you m-might not like me v-very much, but, u-um... I think we could be friends. I can be good. Just-just please, please don't hurt Papyrus. We could be friends.”

  
  


Undyne gaped at Frisk with a half stunned, half revolted expression.

  
  


“ _Friends_ ,” she repeated in blatant disgust.

  
  


“Y-yeah!” Frisk perked up a little. “We could do all sorts of fun friend stuff-!”

  
  


“No,” Undyne said instantly, straightening up a bit, her face dark. “I will not be _friends_ ,” she spat as if the word were poison. “With something like _you_.”

  
  


Frisk visibly deflated and tried to curl in on themselves, and for a brief moment Sans felt something very raw and fiery claw its way through his chest, but he quashed it almost as quickly as it rose. Weird.

  
  


 

  
  


“That's alright, Undyne,” Papyrus clapped his hands together. “I should have expected that you wouldn't be up to the challenge.”

  
  


“I – you can't – excuse you?” she spluttered, giving him a sharp, one eyed glower. The captain of the royal guard looked back and forth between Sans and his brother, and it was painfully obvious that Papyrus was laying out bait for her, looking at her with hope in his eye sockets that she would take the bait. But they all knew better than that.

  
  


 

  
  


“Paps...” Undyne groaned miserably, running a hand down her face and rubbing her eye patch. She then flicked her gaze back to the human one last time before sighing, looking as if she wanted to tell him a great many things and just couldn't put it into words. The pained look on her face grew, and she sighed again before looking away. “I'll... I'll give you a week.”

  
  


She then slammed the thermos of soup on the table with a loud _bang!_ causing them all to jump.

  
  


“Get well soon,” she said expressionlessly before stalking out into Snowdin, shouting over her shoulder as she went. “And fix this damned door!”

  
  


They were all left in silence for a moment before Papyrus let out a pleased noise.

  
  


“... I think that went rather well,” he said with far too much enthusiasm.

  
  


“Oh my god,” Sans sank down the wall, not even realizing just how long he had been holding his breath, his whole body feeling weak. “Oh my _god_ , how in the _hell_ did you pull that off, Papyrus...?”

  
  


“Classic hostage scenario,” Papyrus responded simply, plucking the blanket from the floor and draping it around Frisk's shoulders, who looked up at him thankfully. “Halt the aggressor, maintain a neutral zone and deescalate the situation as calmly as possible.”

  
  


“... Paps,” Sans said slowly, staring at him. “Where in the hell did you _learn_ that?”

  
  


“I can _read_ you know,” Papyrus answered somewhat huffily, checking over Frisk to ensure that they were indeed uninjured. “A royal guard has to be more than just hired muscle, thank you very much!”

  
  


“Which is good, 'cause you got none o' that,” Sans quipped, though it was more out of nervous reflex than anything. Papyrus didn't even respond, simply slipping his gloves back on and flexing his phalanges.

  
  


 

  
  


That had been close.

  
  


Far, _far_ too close. Sans fought hard against the swelling migraine that plagued him from the mass of unused magic, quietly groaning and rubbing his eye sockets. At least it wasn't nearly as bad as the pain from the resets, blinding agony from memories from different timelines all crashing together inside his head. Not just once, but twice now he had very nearly assaulted both his employer and friend, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn't have killed her. It was taking all that he had just to keep it together, and that alone was a Herculean task.

  
  


 

  
  


“Um... Pa-Papyrus?” Frisk asked softly, holding their blanket close to their body. He almost didn't hear them, and Frisk held out their comparatively tiny hands toward him, and Papyrus knelt a bit to take their hands in his.

  
  


“Yes?” his expression softened a bit. “Are you alright, little one?”

  
  


Frisk swallowed and nodded, looking back toward the broken door.

  
  


“Um. Am-am I allowed to ask a-a question?”

  
  


“I don't see why not,” he patted them on the head warmly.

  
  


“What happened to your hand?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans could only watch as all of the color and life instantly drained from his brother's face.

  
  


“I... had an _accident_ ,” Papyrus answered quietly. “A very long time ago,” he continued in a soft tone, running his thumb over the back of their hand. “I'm sorry that you had to see that, little one.”

  
  


“Why are you sad?” Frisk blinked at him. Sans couldn't help but cringe. Despite everything, they really did have all of the tact of a curious ten year old.

  
  


“I don't... like people seeing the scars,” Papyrus admitted lowly. “That's all.”

  
  


“... It's okay,” Frisk gave him a gentle smile. “I don't like anyone seeing mine, either.”

  
  


Papyrus slowly, carefully lowered himself to their height and drew them into a bony hug. They wrapped their tiny arms around his neck, burying their face into his shoulder and mumbling something.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt like an intruder in his own home.

  
  


 

  
  


Mere moments ago he had been nearly bursting at the seams with magic and had been on the verge of blasting his friend into a steaming crater, and now he felt like he didn't even belong in his own house watching such a private and intimate moment. Sans drew his hood up over his eyes, pretending that he wasn't sulking. His head was pounding furiously and he was fighting off weariness with all his strength, feeling stretched thin and drained. Sans didn't want to have the conflicting emotions that he did. It was just strange seeing Papyrus so gentle, so quiet, so... brotherly.

  
  


He _wasn't_ jealous.

  
  


And he told himself that again and again, reinforcing the thought every time. It was such a ludicrous notion. Like he would ever be jealous of the anomaly for taking his brother's attention away. It could very easily all just be a ploy, waiting until their defenses were down, waiting for the ax to fall.

  
  


Sans let out a quiet sigh through his teeth, standing.

  
  


Life was nothing without a gamble, so might as well roll the dice.

  
  


 

  
  


“You alright there, buddy?” Sans patted them on the shoulder, causing them to flinch. He found a brief glimmer of satisfaction at that, knowing that at least they were bright enough to still be afraid of the real threat. For some reason, however, this only brought on another surge of guilt, which was getting mysteriously harder and harder to repress.

  
  


“I-I'm okay,” Frisk mumbled, rubbing their arms and looking up at him. “Um. Are-are you okay, though?”

  
  


Sans blinked.

  
  


 

  
  


Maybe they hadn't intended for it to be as funny as it seemed, or maybe he really was just starting to lose it, but he laughed regardless. Once again, this kid found themselves staring death in the face and they wanted to know if he was okay. This child had some seriously skewed priorities.

  
  


“What?” he stuck his hands in his pockets, grinning. “Of course, kid. I'm always okay. What makes you say that?”

  
  


“You-you just, um...” Frisk tucked their hands into their sleeves, looking away uneasily. “You looked... really, really m-mad, and-and I, um...”

  
  


“Buddy,” he placed a hand on their shoulder, and they shivered but didn't flinch. “You trust me, right? Made a promise, didn't I?”

  
  


A promise that you very nearly broke to save your own skin. Heh heh. Skin. Oh my god focus for five seconds.

  
  


 

  
  


“Y-yeah,” Frisk said with a soft little smile, looking up at him. “I trust you.”

  
  


_Which was fortunate, because when the time came it would make killing them much eas-_

  
  


Sans blanched hard, forcing a weak chuckle and patting them on the head.

  
  


“I think we've all had quite enough excitement for _one_ morning,” Papyrus stretched and stood. “Frisk, would you like to come with us today on our, er, patrol for humans?”

  
  


“I would like that very much,” Frisk beamed at him toothily.

  
  


“Then we're off!” Papyrus bounded out of the kitchen, shouting over his shoulder. “By the way, Sans, we really need to fix the door!”

  
  


They were left in silence for a while, Sans standing with his hands in his pockets as he stared at the human. He kicked with one slipper at the doorknob, mildly impressed. Undyne really had done a number on it.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Seven days.”

  
  


Sans blinked and glanced over to Frisk, who had their arms crossed tightly and was staring off into the corner.

  
  


“Yep,” Sans nodded simply after a moment, hands clenching in his pockets.

  
  


“I... I only have a week to live,” they let out a soft, shuddering breath, eyes watering at the realization.

  
  


“Aw, jeez, kid-” Sans started uncomfortably, putting out a hand to them nervously as he stepped close to them. “Don't-don't freak out, okay? You were doin' so good when Undyne was here...”

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk's shoulders shook lightly as they hid their face behind their sleeves. “I'm s-sorry, I won't cry, I w-won't make noise, I'm s-sorry, please don't be mad...!”

  
  


“Shit,” Sans collapsed inwardly. “That's-that's not what I meant. Sorry if that came out wrong, kiddo. You're gonna be fine. Nobody is gonna die. Okay? It's... it's gonna be okay,” he rubbed their shoulder with his thumb, finding himself desperately hoping that they wouldn't cry. “It's gonna be alright. You... you trust me, right, kiddo?”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk rubbed their eyes and sniffled miserably, gazing up at him.

  
  


Curious.

  
  


Had their irises always been red?

  
  


 

  
  


“Yeah. I... I trust you.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	5. Lost Moments

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


The trek through the woods was a boisterous one. It had been easy enough to avoid the other patrols, and they only crossed a couple of teenage monsters that paid them little to no mind at all, which was fine with Sans. Papyrus chatted amicably the entire way, inroducing Frisk to his numerous puzzles proudly. The child eagerly devoted attention to each and every one as they progressed further and further toward the end of the forest. They even seemed to be having fun, hopping through snowbanks and flipping the carefully laid out switches that Papyrus had arranged in different shapes to confound humans. And yet, Frisk solved each and every one of his puzzles. They occasionally stopped when a puzzle became difficult, and looked at something in the distance, and Sans silently watched as they tilted their head a little each time. Almost as if they were trying to listen to something.

  
  


 

  
  


And promptly afterwards, they proceeded through Papyrus's carefully constructed maze of switches without pausing, without hesitation, solving it with a blank expression on their face. If anything, this only spurred Papyrus on further, gleefully bounding ahead to the next 'trap' to ensure that it was ready for them. Frisk was left standing alone with Sans in the snow, huddled in on themselves as they shivered in the snow.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Cool trick.”

  
  


Frisk jumped at the sound of Sans's voice, not having even noticed that he was directly behind them. They swerved on the spot, fiddling with their sleeves without looking at him.

  
  


 

  
  


“I mean,” he continued casually with his hands in his pockets when they remained silent. “It's pretty amazing how you manage to solve all those puzzles of his. _Almost_ like you knew the answer ahead of time or something.”

  
  


“I don't,” Frisk shook their head, looking away quietly. “I just have a... different perspective now and then.”

  
  


They were constantly avoiding his gaze, holding their hands together beneath their sleeves, almost as if they were trying to hold their own hand. They knelt down in the snow as if looking for something for a moment, like there was something there that he couldn't see. Their hair fell down over their eyes when they looked up at him, and Sans felt an extremely uncomfortable sense of déjà vu. It wasn't often that he had the feeling, and after a while it became easy to ignore, but he recognized it for what it was. It was the same feeling that he always got a little bit before a RESET occurred. He suddenly felt the strong urge to simply remove himself from the situation, to just get away and be close to his brother again, something was wrong and he couldn't put his finger on what. After a moment the feeling passed, and he found himself simply staring at the shivering child.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You alright there, buddy?” Sans asked after a moment, forcing a small grin.

  
  


“Just c-cold,” Frisk shook their head, frowning a little when they looked at him.

  
  


Brown.

  
  


 

  
  


Their irises were _brown_. Not red.

  
  


Sans's mind raced, thinking. Was that a normal human trait? Could they change the color of their eyes? It didn't necessarily seem like something that they could do as he'd never heard of the ability in humans, it would likely require some form of medical procedure with them (or colored contact lenses, as stupid as that idea seemed) since they obviously didn't have any form of magic to do so. He very, very briefly wondered if perhaps it had simply been a trick of the light, if he was beginning to hallucinate from excessive magic buildup and stress. It wouldn't be the first time. Maybe he had just made a genuine mistake.

  
  


Somehow, he doubted it.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sighed after a moment, shifting his shoulders and shuffling toward them. They flinched at his approach, but he shrugged off his jacket and placed it around their shoulders. They looked up at him in mild shock, thin eyebrows high.

  
  


 

  
  


“Cold doesn't bother me as much,” he shrugged again simply. “I've got thick skin.”

  
  


Frisk giggled lightly, beaming up at him. It wasn't often that he heard them laugh at all. It was... kind of refreshing. He found himself relaxing a little in spite of himself, grin widening.

  
  


 

  
  


“Come on, kiddo,” he tilted his head in the direction that Papyrus had run off. “Paps is up ahead with another puzzle or something. Thanks for playing with him today, by the way. He doesn't get to have this much fun very often.”

  
  


“I'm having fun, too,” Frisk gave a little smile of their own, looking ahead. “We- I kind of like puzzles.”

  
  


“D'you think you can kind of like catching up on your own?” Sans rolled his shoulders. “I'm gonna go check on Paps real quick, he's taking an awful long time.”

  
  


Frisk simply nodded with the same little smile, and Sans began the slow trudge toward his brother, feeling the snow crunch under his slippers. They would be fine on their own for a little bit. His worry for his brother outweighed the nagging paranoia to constantly watch the anomaly.

  
  


_Yeah._

  
  


Maybe this time, things would be different.

  
  


 

  
  


He made sure that he was a fair distance away from Frisk before teleporting. He wasn't quite sure why, he just wasn't all that comfortable doing it in front of them.

  
  


Besides, he had to keep up his mysterious air somehow.

  
  


 

  
  


He let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding as he materialized with a little pop of displaced air, stepping out of the void directly behind the kneeling skeleton in front of him. Papyrus had a wrench in one gloved hand, furiously fiddling with a propped up puzzle tile with a number screws of colored wires attached.

  
  


“How's it goin', Paps?”

  
  


Papyrus jolted a little, frowning at the shorter skeleton.

  
  


“You know I hate it when you do that, brother,” Papyrus grumbled before shaking his head, the slight already forgotten. “I'm just having a little bit of trouble with this puzzle tile. It won't activate properly.”

  
  


“What'cha mean?” Sans squatted down slightly next to his brother.

  
  


“... Where's your jacket?” Papyrus blinked after a moment, lowering the tile a little to stare levelly at him. “Sans, that-that was your _favorite_ jacket. Did something happen?”

  
  


“Nah,” he shrugged quietly, focusing intently on the machinery beneath the puzzle. “Kid was cold.”

  
  


“Sans...” Papyrus gave him a very curious look. “You _never_ take that ratty old thing off.”

  
  


“Says mister 'I wear my battle body in the shower'.”

  
  


“Sans,” he frowned slightly. “I'm serious. I didn't even think about them being cold, we have plenty of spare coats.”

  
  


“Eh, I doubt any of your old coats would fit the kid very well,” Sans plopped fully into the snow, crossing his legs to further examine the puzzle. It would appear as if one of the wires had frozen over, he probably just needed to make a couple of light adjustments. “Could you imagine what they'd even look like in that great big brown one of yours?”

  
  


“Oh my god,” Papyrus snickered a little, rolling his eyes and correcting the wires that Sans pointed out to him. “Probably about as adorable as you looked that time you tried it on.”

  
  


“Can we _please_ forget about that already...” Sans groaned into his hands.

  
  


“Absolutely not!” he chirruped proudly. “Good _lord_ , Sans, you looked like a little bitty skeleton trying to play grown up-”

  
  


“Okay, okay, I get it,” Sans hid the rush of blue in his cheeks behind his hands, thoroughly humiliated. “You don't have to rub it in how I'm the short one.”

  
  


“I only do it because I love you, brother,” Papyrus patted him gently on the shoulder with a kind smile, earning a grin back from Sans.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Well, that and because it's fun to irritate you.”

  
  


“I knew it!” Sans crowed victoriously, throwing his hands in the air. They both looked at each other blankly before bursting out laughing. Sans felt a little swell in his chest as Papyrus proudly stood and dusted the snow from himself. He hadn't realized just how much he missed hanging out with his brother again. It felt like it had been years and years ago, but yet, here they were again. He almost didn't recognize the feeling for what it was, it had been so long, but when he did, it warmed him from his chest to his feet.

  
  


He was, for the first time in a long time, genuinely happy.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt the sudden wrench of everything beneath his feet being yanked away, his body falling through infinite cold void as he crashed back into reality, his mind reeling heavily from the pain of memories that didn't belong, that hadn't happened, that wouldn't happen all crashing together in one horrible moment.

  
  


 

  
  


“You know I hate it when you do that, brother,” Papyrus grumbled before shaking his head. “I'm just having a little bit of trouble – brother, are you alright?”

  
  


“Yeah,” Sans found himself answering, trying not to be sick in front of his brother. He moved to stick his hands in his pockets before letting them swing by his side, the weight of everything that had just happened hitting him as well. “Just peachy, bro.”

  
  


He was happy.

  
  


For just a brief moment, he was finally, _finally_ happy.

  
  


And the anomaly had, once again, cruelly ripped it away from him in an instant.

  
  


 

  
  


He finally had a nice moment with his brother that he might have actually remembered. And now it was lost. He felt his chest tighten in rage at the little moment between his brother and him that had been forcefully removed from existence, his fists clenching hatefully as he took a few steps back toward Frisk to give them a piece of his _mind_ -

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


He was yanked back through reality and found himself standing in the same place he had rematerialized behind Papyrus, stomach churning horribly as his vision swam from the pain. He let out a gasp and fell to his knees, surprising the taller skeleton.

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans?” Papyrus jolted up, quickly dusting the snow from himself. “Are you alright, brother?”

  
  


Sans responded by puking violently into the snow in front of him.

  
  


“Oh god,” Sans blubbered incoherently. “Oh god oh god _please_ no it's _happening_ again it hurts make it stop make it _stop_...!”

  
  


“Sans!” Papyrus lifted him up firmly, panic in his eyes. “Hold on brother, I'm going to take care of everything, just -!”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans collapsed to his knees in the snow as the universe was pulled back like taffy once again, not even blinking when Papyrus jumped at his arrival.

  
  


“ _Green wire_ ,” he wheezed, catching his eye before summoning his magic and teleporting as quickly as he could.

  
  


 

  
  


This wasn't just random resetting, it couldn't be. They were doing this on purpose, they were doing it to punish him for his sins, waiting for him to finally open up a little and then stabbing him where it hurt and god did it hurt it was never going to end why were they doing this and it didn't even matter because when he found them he was going to make sure that they never did it again god help them he would rain suffering down on them the likes of which they had never seen-

  
  


 

  
  


Sans gasped breathily as he fell out of the shortcut, lights in his eye sockets whirling wildly as he searched for the anomaly. They weren't where he left them, that was for sure. There was a small set of tracks in the snow giving away their location though, leading in the opposite direction that he and Papyrus had traveled. Why would they bother heading back toward Snowdin?

  
  


 

  
  


He stumbled in the snow, his legs still feeling like jelly from the resets as he forced a burst of magic, teleporting ahead to where he hoped they were, consequences be damned.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Please_!”

  
  


 

  
  


He froze at the sound of Frisk's pleading, horrible familiarity crashing back in on him. He had heard that soft, weeping cry before. Too many times. Far, far too many times.

  
  


 

  
  


“Please,” he spotted them a short distance ahead, gripping a stick (where did they get a weapon?) and holding it at shaking arm's length in front of Doggo, who was wildly brandishing one of his favorite knives at them. “Please, mister, I-I don't wanna fight!”

  
  


“Hey!” Sans shouted hoarsely, earning a shocked look from Frisk, who whipped their head toward him instantly.

  
  


Unfortunately, this was all the distraction that was required. Sans watched as the large dagger plummeted downward, slicing cleanly into their face. Frisk _screamed_ as blood sprayed from the slice onto the snow beneath them, their voice torn as they fell. Sans felt rooted to the spot as they continued to scream in agony, writhing only a moment before Doggo's dagger came plunging hard into their chest. They twitched only for a moment, and Sans watched as the blood pooled into the snow, their one good eye falling on him, watching, crying, begging-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Green_!” Sans screamed as soon as he materialized, and Papyrus fell over from the surprise. He wasted no time in teleporting as fast as he could manage, feeling the strain of magic wearing him thin already.

  
  


 

  
  


Snow burst around him in a little cloud as he fell out of the void in front of Doggo's sentry station, hardly taking a breath as he watched the knife fall. He threw out his left hand, screaming incoherently in pain and frustration, in outright fury.

  
  


Doggo suddenly found himself jerked through the air as gravity changed direction, his soul a bright flicker of blue. He yelped loudly as he fell against his own sentry station, crashing directly through the wood and smashing his back with a hard _SLAM_ into a nearby tree, cracking it. He fell crumpled sideways after a moment, staring blankly ahead in fear, in pain.

  
  


And then he slowly began to turn to dust.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt his throat clench up as he recoiled at what he had just witnessed, at what he had just done.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk was on their knees, weeping openly. “I'm _sorry_ , I'm so, _so_ sorry-”

  
  


He had heard it all before.

  
  


Sans slowly, carefully walked over to Frisk, feeling a little as if he were still in a dream. They looked up at him briefly, tears falling freely.

  
  


“I'm sorry,” they repeated over and over again, hugging themselves. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry-”

  
  


“Kid.”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk's breathing hitched, freezing them in place.

  
  


“Kid. I'm gonna need you to close your eyes for a sec.”

  
  


“... No,” Frisk crumpled instantly, bawling. “No, no no please, please, I'm s-sorry, I'll be good, I can be good, p-please! I'm sorry, please, please don't...!”

  
  


“Shh,” Sans knelt a little, feeling light and numb at the same time before passing a hand slowly over their face, wiping away some of their tears. He hated himself. He hated them for doing this to him. For making him do this. He hated them so, so much, but it still didn't come close to how much he loathed himself. “Shh. Come on. Kid. Please. Just... just do this for me. Close your eyes.”

  
  


“I'm so sorry,” Frisk wheezed, their nose running a little. “I d-didn't mean for this – I just – please I'm sorry I'm sorry I'll let you do whatever to me I'll be good, I'll be good, I can be good I promise, please – I'm so sorry...!”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans let out a quiet, slow breath as the magic was released at long last, feeling the hum of the Gaster Blaster long before he could see it. He could even smell it just before it happened, he knew they could too from the way their nose instinctively scrunched up, their eyes full of fear. It smelled of burning sulfur and darkness and judgment. He looked into their eyes just before he released the blaster hanging above them, acknowledging. Apologizing. That he couldn't bring himself to say what he meant, if only a look could share what he wanted it to.

  
  


Their eyes were red.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans fell through the void and crashed into the snow behind Papyrus, screaming madly as he fell. Papyrus had the briefest of seconds to yelp in surprise before Sans teleported again, leaving him very confused.

  
  


 

  
  


Doggo stood in the same place as before, swinging violently at the cringing child, who had utterly abandoned the stick at this point in favor of barely keeping out of the guard's reach. They glanced up at Sans, the outright terror plain on their features and their knees nearly buckled. Sans didn't notice their expression, though.

  
  


Their eyes were brown.

  
  


 

  
  


There was a rush of magical exertion as gravity increased, sending Doggo to the ground with a yelp. He rolled and tossed wildly in the snow for a moment, grabbing for his dropped knife. Frisk backed away a step, hands held out before them defensively.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Buddy,” Sans said as calmly as he could, straining to keep his voice level as he took a step forward.

  
  


“Sans!” Doggo barked, struggling to pull himself to his knees against the overwhelming gravity. “You've got to look out, there's a human!”

  
  


“I know,” Sans said shakily, bouncing a little on his feet to ensure that Doggo could still see him. “That's my kid.”

  
  


“I – there's – what?” the guard stopped straining to reach his knife, looking uncertainly at the skeleton and back to where he assumed Frisk still was, who was standing as stock still as their shivering self could.

  
  


“That's my kid,” Sans repeated firmly, earning a strange look from Frisk. “So I would, uh, greatly appreciate it if you would stop swinging that thing around. Eh, buddy?”

  
  


“A human,” Doggo insisted. “Sans, are you-”

  
  


“If you shut up about this I'll buy you a month's worth of dog treats,” Sans said desperately.

  
  


 

  
  


Doggo considered this for a moment before forcefully pulling himself against the blue magic holding him to the ground, straightening his shirt a little before ruffling his head and sighing.

  
  


“I'm gonna get so fired,” Doggo grumbled loudly, glowering at him. “I want the good stuff this time.”

  
  


“Done,” Sans replied instantly, reaching out for the trembling Frisk and grabbing their shoulder. He didn't wait another moment before teleporting again, feeling the void warp and twist around him. He had forgotten just how much more of a strain it was, taking another person with him through a shortcut, but at this point he just didn't care anymore. He had to get somewhere else, somewhere safe.

  
  


 

  
  


He fell out into reality into his home with Frisk crying in his arms, sobbing hysterically as he knelt on the living room carpet. They scrabbled in his grasp for a moment, pleading and crying as he held them in his lap, his voice coming out hoarse and strained.

  
  


“I know,” he found himself sobbing in turn, painfully hot tears falling down his bony cheeks as he held them. “I know, I know, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry babybones. It's okay. It's all gonna be okay now. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Please, please forgive me. I'm so sorry. It's okay now. It's okay.”

  
  


Frisk clung to the front of his stained turtleneck weakly, crying and hiccuping into him as their little shoulders shook.

  
  


 

  
  


“I d-didn't mean to,” Frisk wailed quietly, and Sans only held them tighter. “I j-just wanted to...!”

  
  


“It's okay, babybones,” Sans shushed them again, blinking furiously and holding them closer, stroking the back of their head gently. “Shh. It's okay. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry that I hurt you. That shouldn't have happened, I-I, goddammit, kiddo, I'm so sorry.”

  
  


“... It's okay,” Frisk said softly after a moment, putting a small hand on his cheek and looking up at him sadly. “I... I forgive you.”

  
  


 

  
  


What in the actual hell _was_ this kid?

  
  


He had just vaporized them, after watching them die in front of him. He had pulled them close, betrayed them, broken his one promise to protect them and they looked up at him without anger, without hate, just unmitigated mercy. He had killed them, and they looked him in the eyes with mercy, with love, with forgiveness. With forgiveness that he didn't deserve. Not for what he was. Not after the things he'd done to them.

  
  


He felt his soul strain as he fought back a new tide, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling Frisk into a tight hug.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I'm gonna do better,” he murmured quietly into their ear, giving them a squeeze. “I'm not gonna let something like this happen again. Okay? You can't – you can't just wander off like that.”

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk wiped their eyes with his jacket sleeves. It briefly occurred to him that he really should get that thing washed. Someday. “I'm so sorry, Sans. I'll... I'll be good. I promise. I can be good. I don't... I don't wanna die. It-it really, really hurts. It hurts so, so much.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans cringed, feeling bile in his throat as he held them.

  
  


“It's gonna be okay, babybones,” he pressed his forehead to theirs, forcing a smile. “Promsie.”

  
  


They were left alone in the dark for a little while, simply holding each other and listening to the sound of each other's breathing. He had so many questions running rampant through his mind, but the strain of the resets, the barely restrained magic weighing him down was too much. He was just so exhausted. Sans almost fell asleep with Frisk clinging to his shoulders.

  
  


At least until the door was rudely kicked open once again, snow billowing forth as Papyrus brought his booted foot down with a wild stomp, startling them both awake.

  
  


 

  
  


“SANS WHAT THE ACTUAL _FUCK_.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	6. Even If It Kills Me

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“Hi Papyrus,” Sans wiggled his phalanges tiredly, not bothering to move from their spot on the carpet.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Sans_!” Papyrus burst into the house screaming, tattered scarf flapping behind him as he vainly tried to close the door. Then he tried again and again before remembering that Undyne had ripped the door handle off, grunted unceremoniously and pushed it firmly into place.

  
  


 

  
  


“Hi Papyrus,” Frisk repeated weakly, their voice hoarse and raspy.

  
  


“Thank _god_ I found you two,” Papyrus let out a weary breath, clutching a hand to his chest. “Sans, what-what happened?”

  
  


 

  
  


_Oh_.

  
  


_Right._

  
  


 

  
  


To Sans, it had been repeated and seemingly endless torture. To Papyrus, he had just watched his brother fall screaming profanity and nonsense out of thin air before vanishing. So, obviously, he might have sensed that something was wrong.

  
  


 

  
  


“I can explain,” Sans started uneasily, standing.

  
  


“I should hope so,” Papyrus, breathless, checked carefully on their pet rock before pacing back and forth. “I should certainly freaking _hope_ so! Do you have _any_ idea, just an _inkling_ of just how angry I am with you for doing that to me? You just pop into a snowbank, screaming _bloody murder_ ,” Sans cringed openly at this, “And flail around and don't even have your _jacket_ on don't get me started if one of us actually does get 'sick', and then I come back to find out that you and Frisk are gone, just _gone_ , and Doggo is absolutely freaking _out_ by the way, Sans; what _happened_?”

  
  


“I-it was my fault,” Frisk muttered, almost unheard, but Papyrus paused long enough to give them his full attention. They curled up under Sans's jacket, as if they hadn't been expecting him to actually listen. “I-I'm sorry. It was all my fault. I ran – I w-wandered off,” they corrected themselves, still shivering. “I got, um. Hurt. A lot. But, but Sans came!” Frisk perked up when they saw the downcast and concerned look on Papyrus's face. “And, and Sans came, and he, he...”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk suddenly fell silent beside the shorter skeleton, their face draining of expression.

  
  


“Pulled 'em out of a sticky situation with Doggo,” Sans finished for them quietly.

  
  


“Sans, I-” Papyrus started.

  
  


“Literally,” Sans grinned. “They had a stick.”

  
  


“Sans,” Papyrus groaned.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm so sorry,” Frisk squeezed their fingers together, like they were holding someone else's hand. “... It won't happen again.”

  
  


“I know,” Sans said quietly. He hadn't meant it to come out quite so clipped, so cold, but Frisk shuddered nonetheless.

  
  


“You said you were hurt?” Papyrus knelt before them, gently placing a hand on their shoulder. Frisk cringed and looked at him awkwardly before glancing away.

  
  


“I'm fine,” they answered expressionlessly. “Everything is fine.”

  
  


“You certainly don't look fine,” Papyrus frowned, and it was true. They had mud all on them from where they had fallen, their face was scratched and there was a nasty looking bruise on their neck, splotchy and ugly. Sans flinched inwardly upon seeing it. For some reason he felt responsible. Like one way or another it was his fault. He didn't care for the feeling. Papyrus frowned sadly when he traced his thumb over the mark, causing them to flinch.

  
  


 

  
  


“I-I can finish the puzzles,” Frisk shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably, glancing up at him nervously. “I can d-do better, Papyrus, I-I can...!”

  
  


“Puzzles are fine and dandy little one, but you are a _mess_ ,” he tutted softly, picking them up with one arm. His face was set when he picked them up, brother mode entirely engaged. “Come along, little one. Let's get you a bath and try to get you bandaged up a little; we've still got that box of bandages in different shapes, right? By the way Sans, can you kindly find Frisk some clothes to wear?”

  
  


“In the bathroom in the cabinet,” Sans answered automatically. “Second shelf, third to the right. And, uh, I'll dig around and see if I can find anything.”

  
  


“Thank you kindly, brother. Now then, human friend; onward!”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans let out an uneasy breath as he watched Papyrus gallop off through the house, heading toward the bathroom beneath the stairs. He felt a little glimmer of pride at Papyrus. He was always one to take charge, and do it with a smile. Again he had to brush aside the irritation that it was the human receiving all of his brother's attention. He was just being silly. Papyrus was kind to everyone. Maybe he was just being selfish.

  
  


Another part of him grumbled quietly as he meandered up the stairs to his bedroom, taking his time and listening to the sound of running water as he trudged like a man on death row. Didn't he have the right to be selfish now and then? After what he'd been through, shouldn't he be allowed to be selfish every once in a while? Sans glanced at Papyrus's open door with a frown. It was usually an unspoken rule in the house to keep the bedroom doors closed, but Sans was the only one that locked his.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans's skeletal brows furrowed as he tried to think of anything else. It wasn't necessarily something he had to rush for, but he tried not to let his mind wander regardless. He didn't bother turning on the light as he unlocked the door to his room and let the door swing open, glancing momentarily to the still whirling self sustained trash tornado in his corner. He kicked a couple of socks as he pushed past his almost entirely unused exercise machine. He found a pair of shorts that might fit them in one of his drawers, one of the few with a drawstring, and one of his old sleeveless shirts that was probably a bit too baggy for Frisk but at least it would fit better than any of Papyrus's clothes. There was an odd noise that almost reached him, a bit like choking or something similar, but it was gone the moment he tried to listen and shrugged it off.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans grinned to himself, flipping absentmindedly through different clothes that he thought were closest to the human's size. His lost moment came easily to mind, and though a very sharp point of him was still angry and hurt that Papyrus could never recall, it still made him smile a little wider to remember it. They really would look absolutely ridiculous in Papyrus's coat. Come to think of it, they'd probably look silly in Sans's clothes, too. He from then on made it a point to look for the goofiest, baggiest looking clothes that he could after that, debating heavily over a torn old black shirt with parts of the periodic table (DUH, the element of stupidity) or a simple plain white shirt with a picture of crossing bones on the back with the quote 'ask me about my boner'. Both were good, at least to him, but he couldn't for the life of him make up his mind and wound up juggling one in each hand for a good few minutes in what was probably one of the heaviest internal debates he'd had in a long while.

  
  


 

  
  


_For god's sake Sans it's just a shirt just pick one. It's not rocket science._

  
  


Which he laughed a little at. Why was he having more trouble with a stupid shirt than he did astrophysics?

  
  


 

  
  


He shrugged eventually and tugged one of his old plain white shirts that he'd kept for when he swore he would work off the stomach and rolled it under his arms. Obviously, he'd have to get the kid clothes eventually. They couldn't just wear his stuff forever. He briefly wondered if it was narcissistic to think it would be supremely adorable to have them dressed in a little blue hoodie with his shorts hanging down to their ankles, kicking around and laughing in slippers just like his.

  
  


On further analysis of his train of thought, that seemed both narcissistic and kind of creepy. He shrugged again. Maybe it was narcissistic. He couldn't really be bothered to care that much about it one way or another, anyway. He just couldn't muster the energy to argue back with himself about what was and wasn't adorable.

  
  


 

  
  


He then promptly gave himself a little kick for losing an argument with himself, only serving to make him feel a bit stupid and more than a _little_ unhinged. Which he blamed on the resets, of course. It still felt like his head was full water, and it was going to take a while to replace it all with ketchup.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans gave his room one last glance, tossing a mournful look at his mattress and wishing that he could just fall into it and actually rest for once. He sighed and forced a small habitual grin, shaking his head and pulling the door closed behind him with a little click. Things were going to be fine. He was going to do better. Things were _different_ for once. Maybe that was a good thing.

  
  


Sans eyed Papyrus's closed bedroom door and blinked. He could have sworn that it was open a minute ago. He heard the soft noise echoing from somewhere in the house, but couldn't quite pinpoint it. However, he was certain that he heard it this time, and continued quietly down the stairs. The water had stopped running and Sans tilted his head around the doorway cautiously, uncertainty pulling at his gut. The little bathroom was still wet with steam from the hot water, the mirror to his side a little foggy. He glanced down and noted the clothes and water spots on the floor, frowning.

  
  


 

  
  


Finding no one, Sans flicked off the bathroom light and closed the door behind him with his free hand. The soft noise clinked again, and the uncomfortable feeling rose in Sans's stomach as he silently stalked toward the kitchen through the living room, uncertain.

  
  


“Papyrus?” Sans asked in concern, peeking into the kitchen.

  
  


 

  
  


The taller skeleton didn't even register his presence, let alone his shock. Papyrus simply kept chugging from the bottle of hard cider that Sans didn't even think he knew about, glass clinking quietly against his teeth. His whole body was just slumped, like it was trying to cave in on itself.

  
  


“ _Paps_?” Sans wheezed, dropping the clothes as fast as his jaw did. He could feel his eye sockets going hollow as he vainly, desperately tried to insist that this wasn't happening because it could not be happening.

  
  


Papyrus brought the now empty bottle (which was quite a feat, considering how much had been in it) down hard onto the table. When his face came back up Sans immediately recognized the drunken haze in his eye sockets, the lights in his eyes blurry and unfocused. His tear stained cheeks were flushed with a light orange, his expression was so haggard, but it was his eyes that were the worst. Just so drained, so hollow.

  
  


And so, so full of hurt.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus. His Papyrus, his little Papyrus. Papyrus, who he had held swaddled in cloth as a baby. Papyrus, who had held his hand and looked up at him with wonder and curiosity on their first outing to the capital. Papyrus, whom he had watched grow into an awkward teenager as he developed his flair for the dramatic, reenacting his favorite scenes from old fantasy books about princesses and gallant knights. Papyrus, who had grown into such an outgoing, loving, constant in his life, always ready to bounce back from anything that could possibly be thrown at him with unmatched zeal.

  
  


And for a brief moment, Sans wondered if it was possible for a monster to continue existing with a broken soul.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Pappy?” Sans's voice broke as he reached out a little out of instinct, hand trembling.

  
  


“Animal,” Papyrus murmured darkly, almost growling over and over again into his hands, unable to look his brother in the eyes. “Animal. Like... like an animal,” he breathed, his shoulders shaking silently.

  
  


“Pa-Papyrus?” Sans carefully drew the bottle away from him, hating the sound it made as the glass dragged across the table. “What... _Hell's Bells_ , Paps, what _happened_?”

  
  


“Like an _animal_ ,” he repeated to himself, dragging a hand down his horrified face, staring at something in the distance. “Brand-brandy, I don't... god. God help me Sans. Like... just, animals,” he shuddered, scraping his phalanges uselessly across the table. “They-they did – just, just why, Sans? _Why_?”

  
  


“Paps,” Sans said lowly, trying to keep his voice from shaking, trying to keep the alarm out. “I need you to tell me. Right now. What happened?”

  
  


“ _You can't look.”_

  
  


 

  
  


Sans blinked at the pain in Papyrus's voice, the desperation.

  
  


“Don't,” Papyrus pleaded again, looking him almost in the eye sockets, his voice coming out raspy. “Sans. I n-need you to promise me you won't look at their back. Please. Y-you don't want to know. Please. P-please. I don't... know if I can protect you from t-this, Sans. Please.”

  
  


The anomaly.

  
  


The anomaly.

  
  


_The goddamned anomaly._

  
  


 

  
  


It just couldn't manage to go _twenty minutes_ without ruining someone's life. God how he hated that vehement, vicious little _shit._

  
  


Sans felt his fists clench tightly in his pockets, taking a deep breath. Now wasn't the time to lose his temper at it – them. At them. What he wanted to do most was to stay, to comfort his brother in his time of need. But then there remained... whatever had happened had affected Papyrus this badly was something that he immediately decided upon seeing regardless of whether or not Papyrus thought it was a good idea. It was high time that he address the issue. Then he felt the anger slowly start to fade as he remembered what he had seen before, replaced by uncertainty and discomfort.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Paps,” Sans said softly, quietly, without taking his eyes off his brother as he knelt and reached for the clothes. “I'm... I'm gonna t-take these to the kid. Your room?”

  
  


Papyrus looked at him the way a soldier on the front line looked at a losing battle.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'll... I'll be right back,” he couldn't bring his voice above a whisper, but Papyrus heard him regardless. The taller skeleton looked across at him in hurt, in fear. In defeat. His head slowly dropped and he held his face in his gloved hands, shoulders silently shaking. He didn't speak, he barely breathed. It was one of the hardest, most harrowing things that Sans had ever had to witness.

  
  


Sans silently vowed to himself that Papyrus would never, ever again be forced to bear that pain.

  
  


Even if it killed him.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans carried himself up the stairs, determined. He rolled the clothes tightly under one arm as he went, eyes firmly on his feet as his stomach churned. He could do this. He needed to do this. He needed to find out exactly what his brother knew so that he could address the situation. Lack of facts weren't going to solve any problems.

  
  


He sighed again as he stood outside of Papyrus's bedroom door, closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself. He should have been more careful. More observant. They had both seen what the human's arm looked like. He should have expected this. He should have seen this coming and taken steps to prevent Papyrus from spiraling downward into despair like this. He should have done better.

  
  


The little thought running rampant through the back of his head was insistent upon making itself heard though.

  
  


 

  
  


Exactly how far back might another reset take them?

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sighed heavily, forcing the thought away. He really, really did not want to wind up killing the kid so that he could save Papyrus. Even if that wouldn't really be solving the problem. And Papyrus would hate him.

  
  


But Papyrus would never find out.

  
  


But he had to protect Papyrus.

  
  


But it would hurt them.

  
  


But it was for _Papyrus_.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans flung the bedroom door open before he could continue his train of thought. Frisk immediately scrabbled on Papyrus bed, hidden by nothing but a large fluffy bath towel. It was Papyrus's favorite red towel, and easily dwarfed Frisk. Their eyes widened upon seeing him, and they tried to hide inside the towel.

  
  


“I'm sorry!” Frisk blurted as he closed the door behind him. “I'm _sorry_ , I'm sorry...!”

  
  


“Buddy...” Sans started as he pulled the clothes up beneath his arm for a better grip, approaching them slowly.

  
  


“I'm sorry I'm _so sorry,_ ” they clapped their hands over their ears, squeezing their eyes shut. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to make Papyrus sad _I'm sorry please don't hit me!”_

  
  


 

  
  


Sans _reeled_ back as if he had just been struck.

  
  


 

  
  


“Bud -” he spluttered. “Babybones,” he held a hand out to them, trying to still their shaking with a touch. “Christ on a _bike_ , babybones – nobody is gonna hurt you. Okay?” Sans knelt a little to bring himself to eye level, even though they were still ducking their head away from him. They were twitching furiously, and he wasn't certain of what to do. He opted to gently lift their head with one finger, forcing them to look him in the eye sockets.

  
  


Their eyes were brown.

  
  


 

  
  


He let out an internal sigh of relief. He wasn't quite certain what it was about trying to look directly into those red eyes, but it made him uneasy in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on.

  
  


“... Nobody is gonna hurt you,” Sans ran a hand over their head softly, holding out the bundle of clothes for them. “You trust me, right?”

  
  


Frisk shifted uncomfortably, looking away before closing their eyes and slowly nodding.

  
  


“... Yeah.”

  
  


“Towel.”

  
  


“Huh?”

  
  


“Towel,” Sans nodded to them. Frisk instantly curled in on themselves, kicking a little away from him to scoot back up the bed, their eyes full of terror.

  
  


 

  
  


“Please _please_ I'm _sorry_ _please_ not again-”

  
  


“Buddy, _buddy_ ,” Sans held a hand out to them, cringing. “Easy, bud. Easy. I just – goddammit, kiddo. Did-did Paps manage to bandage your back up any?”

  
  


Frisk hid inside the towel, pulling it as tightly around themselves as they could. They looked at him uneasily, uncertainly before slowly shaking their head.

  
  


“Yep, that's about what I thought,” Sans sighed through his teeth. “... Can I sit down?” he gestured to the bed. Frisk glanced at him with worry, shivering a little. When they didn't respond Sans sighed again and carefully sat down, leaving some distance between them.

  
  


 

  
  


“Look,” he said as calmly as he could, twisting the clothes in his hands as he stared at Papyrus's figurine collection. “I don't know exactly what Paps saw, but I promise, kiddo. I'm not gonna freak out. Okay? I'm not gonna be mad. I'm not. I just need to know what I'm dealing with here so we can get you fixed up. Okay?”

  
  


Frisk swallowed dryly, hands shaking. Their eyes were darting around nervously, despairingly finding no means of escape. They eventually fell still, their breathing labored as they turned away from him. He started awkwardly before they took a deep breath, bracing themselves and slowly, cautiously lowered the towel, revealing their back.

  
  


 

  
  


At some level, Sans quietly acknowledged that he was going to need a little more than a couple of bandages.

  
  


 

  
  


He wasn't prepared. He'd convinced himself that he was too numb to be bothered by anything anymore.

  
  


He was wrong.

  
  


 

  
  


Their body was a _mass_ of scar tissue all around their tattoo. Cuts, as if little incisions had been made periodically up and down their back was bad enough, he could see the marks trailing down their thin hips. A couple of black and yellow bruises were aligned on their sides almost like hand prints. The small circular burns were placed haphazardly all over, as if done completely at random, but mostly along their shoulders. And then came the part he had been actively avoiding looking at. The 'tattoo'.

  
  


It most certainly was not a _tattoo_ that they were marked with.

  
  


They had literally been _branded_ between the shoulder blades, the mark dark red and ugly.

  
  


 

  
  


_**SLUT**_.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt something very, very dark gnawing in his stomach.

  
  


He slowly, shakily drew a hand over his face, letting out a shuddering, unstable breath. He wouldn't freak out. He'd promised. He wouldn't panic. _Don't freak out_. He needed to stay calm. Above all else he needed to remain calm. Papyrus would need him to.

  
  


_They_ needed him to.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans?” Frisk asked quietly.

  
  


“Who did this?” Sans's voice cracked. “Who _did_ _this_ to you, babybones?”

  
  


Frisk didn't answer.

  
  


 

  
  


“It's okay,” Sans muttered more to himself than anything. “I'm n-not gonna freak out. Okay? I'm not gonna f-freak out. Oh god, oh _god_ I am trying kiddo I swear to god I _am_ I'm _not_ gonna freak out I promise, I promised so you don't have to worry because of all of the things that I am going to do I am most certainly _not_ going to freak out-”

  
  


“Sans.”

  
  


 

  
  


They were still turned away from him, their head tilted with their hair hanging over their eyes.

  
  


“... I'm sorry,” Frisk held their arms, shivering, still not looking at him. “I didn't... I don't like it when people see.”

  
  


“Does... does it hurt?” Sans asked quietly, trying to keep from shaking as well. Frisk didn't answer immediately, and he took their silence as an answer instead. “I... fuck, buddy. I don't know if we have bandages that can help this.”

  
  


“It's okay,” they rubbed their arms, staring down. “... I'm used to it.”

  
  


The dark feeling in his stomach _roared_ viciously into his chest.

  
  


 

  
  


“You shouldn't _have_ to be used to it,” he snapped, and Frisk flinched hard. “Shit, _shit_ , I'm sorry kiddo – just, just, god... _okay_ ,” he ran a hand over his head nervously. “Okay. I'm, uh. I'm not as good at healing as Paps is, but it might help... I'm-I'm gonna try, okay? God. Don't be scared. Please, please babybones. Don't be scared. It's gonna be alright. I'm gonna try.” Sans reached out a trembling hand to their back, and they cringed at his touch. They were warm, and soft. Sans briefly ran his phalanges over their wounds, his soul crying out at the sight. This kid. The child who looked up to Papyrus like a hero. The kid who liked puzzles and pancakes and puns and popcorn. A child who was lost across time, and space, and wandering in constant terror, who had looked at him with mercy and a smile.

  
  


And someone had _hurt_ them.

It looked like someone had been for a while.

 

  
  


Sans fought very, very hard to keep the rage down, his mind feeling fuzzy and dark as he focused solely on summoning green healing magic. He wasn't proficient in it; half of Snowdin could easily perform green magic, but it simply wasn't Sans's forte. He'd picked up the bare minimum and practiced for countless hours after Papyrus's incident, insistent upon learning at least the basics. However, he found that he never could perform healing magic even a fraction as well as he could blue magic. It had always come so naturally to Papyrus. Sans flicked off the random thought. Now wasn't the time to be jealous of his brother's skills. Green magic required more than mental focus like blue magic did; it needed concentrated love to work. That was one of the many reasons why Sans hated using green magic so much; his thin trickle of magic only displayed how difficult it was to bring himself to even care about anything anymore.

  
  


But for Papyrus, he would do it.

  
  


Hell, he'd even do it for them.

  
  


 

  
  


He released a heavy breath, letting the magic swarm down his arms and into the palms of his hands, luminescent green flickering dancing through his phalanges. He poured as much focused care as he could into his hands, desperately hoping to relieve their pain as well as he could. He thought of Papyrus coughing in the dirt with a broken sternum, his pain, his fear and his overwhelming urge to for once help, to heal.

  
  


Frisk promptly _moaned_ deeply, arching their back sharply into his touch before clasping their hand over their mouth, freezing.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans withdrew as if jolted by an electric shock.

  
  


“Kiddo, what-”

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk flushed deeply, hiding their face in their hands. “I'm sorry, I d-didn't mean to make noise I promise-”

  
  


“No, _no_ , buddy,” Sans shakily stood, running a hand wildly over the top of his head, flabbergasted. “What was that? I mean, just, what? No, just... _what_? Why the _fuck_ did you do that?”

  
  


“What?” Frisk shifted uncertainly, thankfully pulling the towel around them once again as they turned to face him. “W-what do you mean?”

  
  


“That!” Sans threw out his free hand wildly at them, struggling vainly to keep the panic out of his voice and failing horribly. “What do you mean, 'what do you mean'? I mean, just... _no_!”

  
  


“I'm sorry,” they withdrew into themselves, hiding inside the towel, their voice muffled. “I-it just, um... it... it made me feel... good. Really, really good. Like the exie tasty.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans drew a blank.

  
  


“I... I have no idea what you're talking about,” he blinked.

  
  


“Exie tasty,” Frisk said again as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “The stuff that makes bad things feel good.”

  
  


“Not ringin' any bells...” Sans said after a moment, running a bony hand down his face. His head felt heavy and he had a migraine from trying to use green magic, and wracking his brain trying to decipher exactly what an 'exie tasty' might be wasn't helping.

  
  


“I got it if I was good,” they explained quietly, looking away. “I didn't want it when they gave it to me. But... but I did. But I didn't. I didn't, but-but, it-it just felt so... _good_. I didn't mean to make noise. I'm sorry.”

  
  


 

  
  


“Babybones.”

  
  


Sans reached out with trembling hands, placing them on their shoulders and looking them in the eyes before slowly, gradually pulling them into a light hug.

  
  


 

  
  


“You don't have anything to be sorry for,” he said quietly. “Okay? No matter what anyone said, whatever happened wasn't your fault. You don't have to be sorry. It's okay, babybones.”

  
  


Frisk looked up at him in shock. Their eyes began to water and Sans fought back the urge to cry as they hugged him. He needed to stay calm. Papyrus would need him to stay calm. They needed him to stay calm.

  
  


Frisk.

  
  


Not just them. Not the anomaly.

  
  


_Frisk_.

  
  


 

  
  


He swore silently to himself as he held the quietly sobbing child, running his hand in slow, circular motions over their back like he used to do for Papyrus when he had a nightmare. He was going to make things better. He was going to fix this. He was _determined_.

  
  


This time, things were going to be different.

  
  


 

  
  


Even if it _killed_ him.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	7. To Hell

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Snowflakes fell gently through Snowdin, casting long shadows over the buildings. Their proximity to Waterfall tended to bring in the occasional fog, drifting by the house drearily. Every now and then the scent of trash would waft out, just under the salty, humid air of Waterfall, and he couldn't help but be silently thankful that he didn't have an actual nose. Magic did quite a lot to keep it under control, but hte constant flow of waste was painful to watch. Similarly to how Papyrus was retching, actually. Sans felt like a phantom, holding the other skeleton firmly as they knelt.

  
  


 

  
  


“Thanks for holding my hair back Sans,” Papyrus muttered into the toilet.

  
  


“Bro, did-did you just make a joke?”

  
  


Papyrus responded by vomiting miserably into the porcelain throne once again.

  
  


 

  
  


“Keep prayin' at the white altar, buddy,” Sans rubbed his back emphatically with one hand, his other in his jacket pocket. Papyrus looked about as spent as Sans felt. “Poor bro. See. _This_ is why you don't sneak into the liquor cabinet.”

  
  


“ _Never again_ , Sans. This is _literally_ the worst.”

  
  


“Is Papyrus okay?” Frisk softly poked their head around the corner again worriedly, practically prancing from foot to foot. They wore Sans's shirt and shorts, and although it hung off of them a little strangely it fit well enough. The upstairs washer ran noisily enough to fill the house, though not quite loudly enough to cover up the sounds of a miserable skeleton. Sans still couldn't bring himself to look at them properly, couldn't meet their eyes. And how was he even supposed to? That thing – _Frisk_ – just kept complicating matters. It would be a lot easier to just hate the little creature if it would stop giving his brother such worried looks.

  
  


“Oh, Papyrus is just _peachy_ ,” Papyrus shakily gave them a weak thumbs up.

  
  


“Wow, Paps, you are _salty_ when you drink.”

  
  


“Okay...” Papyrus said a couple of times into the toilet, not even bothering looking up as he flushed. “ _Okay_. So. _So_. There are, um. Some _things_ that I think that we need to, uh. _Discuss_.”

  
  


“Hopefully not in the bathroom,” Sans frowned a little.

  
  


“Sans.”

  
  


“Yeah, Paps.”

  
  


“Painkillers and a glass of water, if you would please.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans blinked and obliged immediately, withdrawing to the kitchen. He quickly gathered the bottle of dwindling pain pills, dry swallowing a couple before dropping the last few into his hand and returning with the glass of water. Papyrus had already situated himself on the couch with Frisk drawn up on their knees beside him, the human looking pale and uneasy. He handed them both to his brother wordlessly, watching as Papyrus downed the pills and the entire glass of water in one go.

  
  


“... Another, please.”

  
  


Sans wound up bringing another three glasses of water to Papyrus with the same response with every occurrence, watching as the skeleton downed each and every one, staring blankly ahead the entire time. Each time Sans returned with a glass of water he was slightly more unsettled, his mind feeling numb.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans eventually hopped onto the opposite end of the couch, hands folded in his lap as he waited. He almost hoped that nobody would break the silence, that he could just close his eyes for a moment and let the pain ease off. There was just too much in his mind, too much to deal with right now.

  
  


“Okay,” Papyrus leaned forward a little, running a hand down his face. He looked mournfully at Frisk for a moment before forcing a small smile, petting them gently on the head. “Okay. So. Human. I... would like to apologize for my behavior.”

  
  


“Papyrus-” Frisk started uncomfortably, but was silenced when he held up a single gloved finger.

  
  


“I am sincere in this,” Papyrus insisted. “I most certainly could have handled the situation with a little more tact, and for that, I am sorry.”

  
  


“I-it's okay, Papyrus. I didn't mean to make you sad.”

  
  


Papyrus shushed them softly before leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in between his legs as he stared forward into nothing.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm... not certain how this happened to you, little friend,” Papyrus said quietly, interlocking his fingers together. “I'm not sure how. I don't know _why_. I don't even entirely understand why you do not wish to speak about it, but I assure you that when you are ready, I... will be here, for you. Alright?” he tilted his head at Frisk, looking worn out, tired, a bit hungover, but determined and always, always kind. Frisk smiled silently back and took his hand in their own, leaning against him.

  
  


“... How did you get to be so cool, Papyrus?” Frisk murmured.

  
  


“Years and _years_ of practice,” Papyrus responded, albeit a little dryly.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans mulled over a great many things as they spoke beside him, tuning them out in favor of drifting through his thoughts.

  
  


He understood more than he did before. And yet, there was a part of him that really wished he didn't. It would have made things simpler, at least. Sans withheld a groan with difficulty, rubbing the sides of his head wearily. So he had a drug addled child – a _human_ , at that – on his hands with an apparent 'liking' to green magic. He firmly and intently reminded himself to never, _ever_ let Papyrus use healing magic on them. His poor brother had already been through enough. Besides, there was only so much that his magic could do in a short span of time. Some of the wounds would easily heal with a few days worth of good monster food and some rest. Others, however...

  
  


Sans didn't want to find himself thinking of it, but it was now one of the images burned into his memory from then until the end of time. Seeing that mark, that burn, that _branding_ had filled him with such a roiling, vicious, intent _hate_ that it scared him, and he wasn't certain exactly what was causing the sick feeling in his stomach but he didn't like it. He bitterly hoped that he never encountered the person (Frisk had said them, it might have even been more than one, stars have mercy) that had done that to them.

  
  


Because if they ever met, they were going to have one _hell_ of a bad day.

  
  


 

  
  


Did the human even deserve something like that? He knew he had told them that they didn't, he hadn't even thought about it when he said it, it had just been something that he felt intead of a reaction based on logic and principle. He knew what a backstabbing, murderous little freak that they were. Who knew, maybe they had done something terrible or committed some grevious crime on the surface and that was how punishments were doled out? It was a weak and crappy excuse and he knew it, he was flailing for straws, but he wanted something, _anything,_ some kind of reasoning for such... _actions_. His stomach churned violently again and he shook his head, letting out an unsteady breath. Sans didn't notice when the blanket was drawn over Frisk. Still staring blankly ahead, he hardly turned at all when Papyrus made a small motion to him. He blinked and drew himself from his reverie, stretching. He had almost made it to the point where he could fall asleep, but it appeared that the kid had beaten him to the punch. They were leaned against Papyrus (and his stomach jolted again with an uncomfortable feeling seeing them so close to his brother) with their eyes closed, breathing heavily through their nose, their little chest falling and rising slowly beneath the blanket.

  
  


“Man this kid loves naps,” Sans murmured just loudly enough for Papyrus to hear.

  
  


“Sans.”

  
  


 

  
  


He blinked and glanced up at his brother, who carefully stood so as not to wake Frisk.

  
  


“Do you think that you can watch them for a bit?” Papyrus asked quietly, tapping his fingertips together. Sans stared at him in surprise, the uncertainty beginning to take hold again.“I need to attend to some things, but they need to stay and rest. Can you make sure they get a proper nap while I'm out?”

  
  


“Yeah, of course Paps,” Sans blinked again, whispering so as not to wake them. “What's up? Are you sure you're alright? What's goin' on? Where are you goin'?”

  
  


“Well, there's no time to rest, and besides, we're going to need some tools to fix the door,” he listed off on his fingers. “I'm also going to need to pick up groceries. Maybe I could find some clothes that might actually fit the human at the shop, but I kind of doubt it but I still want to try, they can't just wear your clothes all the time; at the very least I could pick up some more supplies and break out the sewing machine-”

  
  


“Okay, _okay_ Paps,” Sans reassured him with a small laugh. “I get it. I'll watch 'em until you get back. No worries, bro.”

  
  


“You'll keep an eye socket on them?” Papyrus's eyes flickered nervously between them.

  
  


“Two, if I can manage it,” he gave a little grin.

  
  


“Thank you,” Papyrus said a little too loudly, causing Frisk to stir momentarily, whining in their sleep before falling gradually back into slumber. They both looked at each other tensely as the human stilled, and Papyrus let out a low breath. He gently placed a hand on their head as a sadness crossed his face. “I'll be back soon,” he said a little more quietly, slipping out the front door and struggling to close it a few times.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans was left alone in the quiet house, now completely and utterly unable to fall asleep.

  
  


… _Dammit._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans quietly folded his hands in his lap, letting out a practiced sigh through his teeth as he stared through the dark. He didn't want to even glare at the little shit that had the nerve to sleep next to him. He needed to stay angry at it – at _them_ – and he couldn't just go forgetting about what they had done. Maybe they weren't covered in dust this time around, maybe he had learned some things that threw a wrench into the machine, but that didn't mean that he could just trust them not to go on a stabbing spree. But he was more than a little tired, and he could already feel his attention slipping. To declare that his day had been hectic would be an understatement. Between dealing with Undyne, the incident with Doggo (who he was going to have to provide a month's worth of dog treats for now, great) and attempting to heal Frisk, he felt as if he hadn't slept in years. There was simply too much to handle right now, he could feel his body finally, _finally_ shutting down, catching up with his worn out mind. The darkness thankfully swallowed him eventually, letting him drift in bliss for a while.

  
  


 

  
  


When he awoke, Frisk had shifted in their sleep. They were using his stomach as a makeshift pillow, curled up beneath the blanket for warmth and breathing softly. Sans felt a small, unexpected smile slowly creep onto his face, and he let out a single chuckle as he gently patted them on the head. They were such a small thing. It worried him just how rail thin they were, and since Papyrus pointed it out it just seemed even more obvious. Had the kid actually eaten at _all_ recently? Gauging from their... 'condition', Sans would have guessed not. It made that queasy, upset feeling sneak back unwelcomingly into his stomach, but it seemed to fade just a little bit more with each few passing minutes that he slowly ran a thumb over Frisk's head, his mind roiling. Constantly watchful, constantly fearful, constantly terrified of him. And yet, they were apparently comfortable enough around him to fall asleep on him.

  
  


Frisk was definitely a weird kid.

  
  


 

  
  


He sat there for a while, keeping his breathing slow and steady so as not to disturb them, his mind wandering. There was an odd spark in his chest that he couldn't quite identify. He mulled it over as he ran a hand over their head, skeletal brows furrowed. They just seemed so small, so _tiny_. Hadn't _this_ been the creature to wreak havoc all across the Underground and use time like their personal toy?

  
  


Then the other thought crossed his mind. Maybe they really _were_ telling the truth. It seemed unlikely at best, but...

  
  


There was always the matter of that _damned weed._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans was sick, so, so sick of pretending that he had no idea what was going on just to keep the flower on it's metaphorical toes. He couldn't remember all of the resets; that would have undoubtedly driven him completely insane. Had the kid simply taken control of the timeline away from it? How was that even possible? No, he was glad he didn't remember everything. He could, however, remember quite a few of the resets, and they had almost always been undoubtedly due to the flower. Then the kid came, and everything had started changing again. Those had been bad enough.

  
  


He shook his head gently, closing his eyes as he froze up, his chest tightening. He didn't want or need to go struggling to remember some of the more horrendous resets. The only way to really get through was to try to forget. Which was, ironically, the last thing that he actually wanted to do.

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk sighed in their sleep, and Sans resumed stroking their head with soft, gentle motions, phalanges a little tangled in their hair. There were so many puzzle pieces just begging to be put together. He would put it together eventually. It was then that he realized what the feeling in his chest was.

  
  


_Affection_.

  
  


 

  
  


He recoiled inwardly and froze, fighting the steadily growing disgust and horror.

  
  


He'd gotten too attached.

  
  


He was compromising _everything_.

  
  


 

  
  


He stared down at the child in his lap, contemplating deeply. He could find a way to put an end to the resets. He _had_ to find a way to put an end to the resets.

  
  


Didn't he?

  
  


 

  
  


So many timelines, jumping left and right, stopping and starting. Until eventually, everything just... ends.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sighed quietly through his teeth, trying to close his eye sockets. Maybe it really all was just _pointless_.

  
  


But there was that little burn, that little _spark_ in his chest that refused to die out. He would keep going. He would go through the motions, play the part he was required to, again and again. Not for him.

  
  


For Papyrus.

  
  


He gradually spared a glance downward with one cracked eye.

  
  


… Maybe even for them.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“You sure you got this, bro?”

  
  


“I've always got everything, brother.”

  
  


“Positive? I don't think you can manage it without waking them up.”

  
  


“Nonsense,” Papyrus scoffed. “Just look at them, they're sleeping like a log. A very adorable, tiny, human shaped log. Trust me Sans, I'm a professional.”

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus winked to him conspiratorially.

  
  


The painfully loud screech of the rusty power drill on the door almost drowned out Frisk's terrified shriek as they jolted awake, tumbling to the floor.

  
  


“... _Ah_ ,” Papyrus immediately cringed and rubbed the side of his head, looking at the stunned child apologetically. “Sorry about disturbing your nap, human Frisk! I was just putting the finishing touches on the door,” he pointed to the now repaired (slightly patchy looking) door.

  
  


“How-how long...?” Frisk's head whipped around wildly, looking between the kneeling Papyrus and Sans, who was reclined on the couch lazily with his arms behind his head.

  
  


“Not long,” Sans shrugged halfheartedly as Papyrus began to collect his tools, testing out the new door knob a couple of times with a proud smile. He plucked his shirt with two finger bones and held it up, grinning a little at them.“Thanks for droolin' all over my shirt, by the way.”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk flushed awkwardly and rubbed their arms, standing and looking away.

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk mumbled, tucking their hands into their sleeves and looking at their feet.

  
  


“What are you aplogizin' for?” Sans shrugged again with a grin. “Naps are the best. That's why I have them as often as possible. Heck, I'm having one right now.”

  
  


“No you're not,” Papyrus pointed out.

  
  


Sans responded by dropping his head and snoring loudly.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus grunted in disgust and threw up his hands, earning a chuckle from his brother.

  
  


“I'll have some nice hot spaghetti ready in a few minutes,” Papyrus dusted his gloved hands, standing up straight before clicking his fingers. “Oh! Stay right there, human Frisk! Stay right there, I'll be right back! Nyeh heh heh!”

  
  


And with that he literally _bounded_ right over them, bolting up the stairs three at a time, yammering to himself the entire time.

  
  


Frisk looked at him questioningly, but Sans only shrugged again.

  
  


“No idea,” he winked. “I'm asleep.”

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus was back within moments, almost tripping over himself in his excitement as he held something behind his back in one hand. He skidded to a halt a half step in front of Frisk, who only looked up at him uncertainly.

  
  


“So,” Papyrus used his free hand to adjust his scarf, smiling down at Frisk and kneeling before them. “After my, er, chat with Doggo I realized that some monsters might not be necessarily, eh... _thrilled_ to discover a human in the Underground,” he continued, playing with his scarf absentmindedly. “So, I mean, I set to work rectifying the issue as rapidly as possible. Obviously it's no substitute for just being a real monster, but I, um, hope you like it, little one.”

  
  


 

  
  


He ever so slowly withdrew his hand from behind his back, letting the object fall loose in his hands as he held it out to Frisk. Their eyes widened and their mouth dropped a little, staring in disbelief up at him. It was a small deep blue jacket a couple sizes too large, several shades lighter than their jumper with a red stripe across the front identically colored to Papyrus's scarf. The hood had a couple of smooth, velvety floppy little horns sewed neatly to the top, and bounced a bit in Frisk's fingers.

  
  


“I know it isn't exactly my _best_ work,” Papyrus tapped his fingers together awkwardly. “I hope it isn't too bad-”

  
  


“It's _wonderful_ , Papyrus,” Frisk half choked, hugging him tightly around the neck, beaming tearily up at him.

  
  


“I'm glad you like it!” He squeezed them back before standing with a relieved smile. “Try not to fall asleep again though, I'll have dinner ready shortly, okay?”

  
  


Frisk nodded happily at him, watching him go before holding the jacket tight, pressing their face into it and swinging it a little back and forth.

  
  


 

  
  


“Paps is pretty cool, huh,” Sans cracked an eye open to watch them as they clambered up onto the couch beside him, bearing what was possibly the biggest, _dopiest_ looking smile he had ever seen on them.

  
  


“I know,” Frisk tugged on the jacket with a chirrup, face a little flushed as they inspected themselves. “He's the _best_.”

  
  


 

Well, at least they could agree on something.

It was silent for a while longer, and Sans relaxed with his eyes closed as he listened to the sound of Papyrus bustling about the kitchen. He desperately wished that the moment would last just a bit longer, letting him drift in between consciousness and sleep. However, things were never that simple. Papyrus alerted them a short while later and Sans shrugged off the last remnants of sleep, pulling his hands out of his pockets and standing.

  
  


“You just gonna sit around kiddo?” Sans asked Frisk, who was curled up with their face against their knees. “... Buddy?”

  
  


Frisk looked up eventually, but not at him. Their eyes were a little unfocused and their face was a very light shade of pink. They looked to be sweating a little and mumbled something to themselves.

  
  


“Y'alright there, kid?” Sans asked uneasily. Frisk shifted and looked at him almost as if they were looking through him before slowly, slowly nodding and pulling themselves from the couch to stumble into the kitchen. He didn't like that he couldn't quite shake the uncomfortable feeling, but eventually began to shrug it off as Papyrus noisily set plates for everyone, rambling about the plans for the next day. Sans sipped silently at a bottle of ketchup, letting his mind wander while Papyrus talked. The spaghetti really wasn't all that bad. Maybe it was because it was only partially burned this time. The taller skeleton didn't seem to mind at all though, and was talking animatedly between Frisk and his brother.

  
  


 

  
  


“-And I was thinking about showing you around Snowdin tomorrow as well; just because this place is a bit cramped doesn't mean that there isn't plenty to explore! I'm sure we'll have plenty of fun with-with, er... human? Frisk? Are... you alright?”

  
  


Sans blinked and glanced tiredly up at the human across from him. Frisk had hardly touched anything on their plate, and while their brow and neck seemed oddly paler than usual their cheeks had grown a very bright cherry red, and they swayed gently back and forth on their chair over and over. Their hands were clenching and unclenching on the table, grasping at nothing, and they had that same 'not there' look in their eyes again as they stared off into nothing.

  
  


“... Buddy?” Sans asked after an extremely awkward moment of silence.

  
  


“I... I don't feel... so good...” Frisk breathed weakly, sweat beading along their brow.

  
  


“Don't _look_ so good, either,” Sans frowned, reaching out for them a little out of instinct. “You gonna-”

  
  


“B'th'room,” Frisk spluttered quickly, almost falling out of their chair in their haste. They scrambled out of the room, nearly tripping over themselves multiple times before he heard the bathroom door click shut.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans looked in discomfort to his brother, who had a hurt expression on his face.

  
  


“... The spaghetti wasn't _that_ bad, right...?”

  
  


“It tastes great Paps,” Sans lied automatically. “Kid's just had kind of a rough day is all. They'll be fine.”

  
  


He tried to say it with as much conviction as he could, but it wasn't much. They ate the rest of their dinner in relative silence, each of them stealing glances every few minutes for what felt like forever in Frisk's direction. Sans started to clear and collect the dishes before Papyrus shook his head, silently gesturing for him to check on Frisk. Sans nodded once in understanding, sticking his hands in his pockets and shuffling through the living room. He came to a stop before the bathroom door, pulling out his fist and rapping his knuckles a couple of times against the wood.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Knock knock,” he said for emphasis.

  
  


He was greeted by the sound of pained vomiting.

  
  


 

  
  


“Yeesh,” he cringed. “Is everybody barf-y today or something? Heck, maybe there really is something going around. I would say I'm worried about catchin' a stomach bug, but I don't seem ta have one of those.”

  
  


He was met by silence.

  
  


“Kinda hoping it wasn't Papyrus's spaghetti...” Sans chuckled more to himself than anything. “Don't tell him I said it, but it kinda isn't exactly the best sometimes. He's getting way better though ever since he started cooking lessons with Undyne. He still refuses to ever let me cook though. But, hey, at least I don't usually set the kitchen on fire,” he said jokingly. “At least, mostly not on purpose.”

  
  


Silence.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Kiddo?” Sans asked quietly, shifting from foot to foot, the uneasiness clawing at his stomach. “You, uh. Doin' alright in there?”

  
  


Still no answer.

  
  


Sans let out a quiet sigh through his teeth.

  
  


“Look, buddy,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Hate t'admit it, but, uh, the silent treatment is kinda puttin' me on edge here. If you don't answer, I'm gonna open the door. Alright?”

  
  


Nothing.

  
  


“... Kid?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans pushed the bathroom door open, and had to fight to keep from shouting in alarm.

  
  


Frisk was lying on the bathroom floor facedown, unmoving. Sans felt his marrow _freeze_ , and he carefully closed the bathroom door behind him. They were fine. They _had_ to be fine. There wasn't a reset, everything was still in place, so it had to be fine. They were fine. Eventually he was going to make it a single day without something going wrong. The last thing he needed to do was freak out Papyrus, his brother had enough on his plate as it was. _Don't panic. Don't worry Papyrus._ They were fine they were fine _please god let them be okay!_

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Frisk?!_ ” Sans choked and dropped to his knees beside them, carefully turning them over. They were sweating and their hair was matted to their forehead, and their eyes were unfocused. They were pallid and trembling furiously, their cheeks were a fiery red and their forehead was hot to the touch, nearly burning. “Shit, shit, _shit_ ,” he hissed under his breath. They'd already used the last of the painkillers, if they'd have even done any good. Was there any kind of fever reducer in the house? Human medicine wasn't exactly something he thought that he would ever need to stock up on. Sans found himself wildly rifling through the cabinets faster and faster, frantically looking for something, anything that would help. Frisk moaned pitifully from the floor, clawing at the tile beneath them. He could feel another headache forming, pounding heavily behind his eyes from stress.

  
  


 

  
  


“S-Saa-aans...”

  
  


“I know, I _know_ ,” he murmured quietly, sympathetically. “H-hang on, buddy...!”

  
  


Desperate, he grabbed a cloth from the cabinet and began soaking it in water under the sink, dropping to his knees again and carefully helping Frisk to sit against the tub. They struggled weakly at first twisting their head away, prompting him to gently but firmly force them to sit.

  
  


 

  
  


“Need you to tell me what you're feelin' here buddy,” Sans held the cold wet cloth against their forehead, slightly covering their eyes, and they shivered. He tried to place their hand against the cloth to get them to hold it, but their arm simply fell limply back to their side. Their breathing hitched and their shoulders shook, their head lolling a little from side to side. “Come _on_...! Don't-don't fall asleep, k-kinda need ya to help me out here bud... What's wrong, Frisk? Are you sick? Is it – is it a cold or something, god I hope it's a cold you're not sneezing or anything but that isn't necessarily indicative of a cold just that you need to sneeze I don't even – _hang on,_ babybones,” he tried and failed to keep his hand from shaking as he held the cool cloth to their head. Was there something that had sparked this? How was he supposed to fix it? What was he supposed to do when they looked like death warmed over?

  
  


The horrible thought occurred to him that, just maybe, they _were_ close to death.

  
  


 

  
  


And if they died, they would be forced to repeat everything all over again, inevitably dying from an illness that he was completely powerless to stop, over, and over, and _over_ , and every time he would be _forced to watch._

  
  


The despair pushed at the inside of his eyes and he fought to keep control, to keep calm. He needed to stay calm, if he snapped then everything would go straight to hell. He had to stay focused.

  
  


_Stay calm._

  
  


 

  
  


“Talk to me, babybones,” he said softly, running his hand worriedly over their head, eliciting no response. “Please. Please, _god_ , just... say something. Anything. Please. Please, babybones. Talk to me.”

  
  


“ _H-huuuurts...”_

  
  


“Frisk,” Sans breathed, pulling the cloth from their forehead to wipe the tears and sweat and snot from their face, their breathing coming ragged and uneven. They were silently sobbing, eyes rolling wildly in their sockets as if searching for something that wasn't there. Again the thought crossed his mind that the lights were on, but nobody was home. “Come on,” he held up a couple of phalanges in front of them. “How many fingers am I holding up? Come on. Come on, please buddy, don't go anywhere. Stay here with me. Please. H-how ma-many fingers on a human h-hand, yeah? How many fingers, babybones?”

  
  


Frisk responded by moaning weakly, clutching their stomach.

  
  


“... Sans?” they breathed eventually, as if only having just realized his presence.

  
  


“Right here,” He said quickly, gripping their hand in his. “Right here, buddy.”

  
  


“N-n-need... it...”

  
  


“Come on, kiddo,” he wiped the sweat beading from their forehead with the cloth again.

  
  


“Please,” Frisk hiccuped miserably, sounding as if their tongue was too heavy. “Please, I-I w-was good...”

  
  


“Yeah,” he muttered, washing the cloth and bringing it back to wash their forehead again. Shit, they were going to die. They were going to _die_ and he was going to be forced to watch them fade, he had to do _something..._ “Yeah. You're a g-good kid, Frisk. You're a good kid.”

  
  


“Sans?” Frisk's breathing fell unevenly, and their shoulders twitched as one of their legs kicked at nothing.

  
  


“Right here, buddy. You're here with me too, right?”

  
  


“We – I'm here,” Frisk slurred. “Sans – Sans, please, _please_ it _hurts_...”

  
  


“What does, babybones?” he ran a shaky hand over their head, pulling a little at their matted hair. “Tell me what's wrong. I c-can't... I can't... _what is it_ , Frisk? I need you to communicate with me here pal, tell Sansy what's wrong.”

  
  


“Feel funny...” Frisk muttered breathily, head drooping a little to the side again, and Sans gently propped them up. “Insides... Belly. Belly hurts. Please, Sans... it hurts, it _hurts_...!”

  
  


 

  
  


“Okay,” Sans ran a hand over his head, wiping away sweat that he wasn't sure who it belonged to. “Okay. _Okay_ , stomach ache. I can – I can handle this.”

  
  


“Please,” Frisk sobbed dryly, clutching their stomach with one hand and scrabbling at the floor with the other. “P-please, S-Sans, it-it _hurts_ , just make it _stop_...!”

  
  


“Alright, alright,” Sans said over their wheezing. “Okay. Just hang in there, kiddo, please, just _please_ be okay, I'm-I'm gonna take care of everything. I promised I'd take care of you, right? Right,” he ran a hand down his face, steeling himself mentally. “Right. Right, okay. _Okay_. You're gonna be okay, babybones; hold still for me, o-okay?”

  
  


 

  
  


They were _making_ him do this. This wasn't quite right, this wasn't _okay_ by any means, but he couldn't risk worrying Papyrus. Couldn't let himself go through another reset. Couldn't watch them suffer any longer. He fumbled to roll up the cloth and presented it to Frisk, pressing it against their thin lips.

  
  


“Bite this for me,” he commanded, and they did so. Sans was already drained, he felt so spent, but they needed him. They were hurt, they were in pain, and they needed him. Sans took in a shaky breath, placing a trembling hand beneath their shirt on their stomach. He was awful, he hated himself so much but they were hurting, they needed him. It was difficult, painful to drag up the last dregs of magic that he could, focusing intently as he could on feelings of warmth, of comfort and home, of healing and hope. At first, nothing happened.

  
  


_Please. Please, just let them be okay. Don't die. Please, please, please babybones._

  
  


 

  
  


Eventually, finally, a thin, _faint_ trickle of green light began emanating from his palm. Sans felt the drain almost immediately, his bones feeling thicker and heavier with every passing moment. He forced himself to continue, squeezing every last drop of healing magic that he could to reverberate into his hand. Frisk hitched and shuddered, gasping sharply and arching their back before falling still.

  
  


As soon as it was over Sans had to fight hard to keep his eye sockets open, his head drooping and shoulders slumped from the effort. He just felt so tired. So _empty_. Is _this_ what expending effort felt like? He silently quipped to himself with a reminder to never try ever again, because stars and stones it _hurt._ His head felt as if it were filled with water. He gave and gave until he simply had no more to give.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You okay now, buddy?” Sans's voice was strained and gravelly as he slowly ran a hand over their quivering head. Frisk didn't speak, but spluttered and spat out the cloth letting it fall from their mouth, breathing irregular and shaky. They eventually nodded a couple of times, eyes half lidded. Sans tried to help them stand but they only draped their arms over his shoulders, groaning lightly with their face buried in his chest.

  
  


Sans nearly fell to the floor as he fought to stand with Frisk in his arms, his legs feeling like lead. He forced one foot to the floor at a time, focusing intently and feeling as if he might drop at a moment's notice. The door seemed miles away, the walls were too close and the heat just kept rising, and since when had the house been set on a spinning plate? He just had to keep going. _Don't give in. Stay calm. Keep going._

  
  


_Do it for Frisk._

  
  


 

  
  


“So I was thinking that we could watch that new Mettaton movie tonight,” Papyrus chatted amicably as he returned from the kitchen, tugging his gloves onto his hands. “I know we're kind of out of popcorn but considering the mess from last t- Sans?”

  
  


“Kiddo's not feelin' s'good,” Sans was barely heard as he carefully, slowly lay the sleeping Frisk onto the sofa. His own voice sounded so weirdly far away. “Come t'think of it, I'm... I'm not feelin' t'good either.”

  
  


“ _Sans?!”_

  
  


“That's m'name. See ya when I get back from Hell, Paps.”

  
  


 

  
  


He was out before he hit the floor.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	8. The Path To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans was falling.

  
  


 

  
  


He felt the blur of the black void around him as he always did when shortcutting, crushing the life out of him as he failed to escape. He screamed and screamed as he plummeted, suffocating and making no noise and falling forever, crashing through space, through time, through memory-

  
  


 

  
  


_\- Of twisting tiled corridors that smelled of disinfectant. Forced to carry himself a step at a time behind the taller skeleton, lab coat swishing a little behind him. He hated him for this. He hated him so goddamn much. But what else was there to do? It was for the benefit of science. It was for the benefit of all monsterkind. There was no one else that could take his place. Yet. And besides._

  
  


_Where would he even go? No, he had to wait. Had to bide his time. At least until the new experiment could walk upright like a proper skeleton, then maybe, just maybe-_

  
  


 

  
  


_\- The sound of Papyrus's feeble cries for mercy as the other children hit him, beat him with sticks and rocks, laughing at his pain as his sternum cracked. Sans's scream of rage as he barreled down on them, the shock and fear in their eyes as they met his, flaring blue and promising of brimstone and suffering and agony. The little skeleton cradled in his arms, unable to hear his sobs through his own. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair, no one should be so helpless. Not him, definitely not Papyrus. His brother was so good, he didn't deserve this. Why would they do this to him? Why would anyone do this? Why-_

  
  


 

  
  


_\- Didn't the damned kid just_ give up already? _Why were they doing this to him? Why would anyone do this? He guessed it didn't really matter as he stared down at the broken human on the floor, flooded with horrible familiarity as they coughed up a few specks of blood, one hand clenched weakly to their broken sternum._

  
  


 

  
  


“ _S-sorry,” the human wept. “Please – please, understand Sans. Please. I'm so sorry.”_

  
  


“ _Sure,” he shrugged nonchalantly, pretending that he was entirely unfazed by this point. God, if only that were the case. Tears streamed down their face. They usually did. It was almost funny, he could have sworn that their eyes were red before. Or were they always brown? Maybe he really was going insane from the resets. He wouldn't doubt it. “I'll bet you were real sorry when you butchered Papyrus, too. You dirty brother killer.”_

  
  


 

  
  


_He didn't bother listening to their pleas for mercy rising in pitch, their protests, the soft, broken sobbing. He only did his job._

  
  


_Bones shattered the earth beneath them, piercing the wretched anomaly in a dozen different places, all erupting in different directions. Obviously just killing them wasn't getting the message across. How many more times were they going to make him do this? Did they actually enjoy this? Is that why they wouldn't stop coming back? He didn't even blink this time when the blood splattered across his face. He simply stood there, watching until their tiny body finally stopped twitching. Every death, every reset, he grew more desperate to just make it stop, to make it end. Evidently, he was going to have to be a little more... blunt._

  
  


_His eternal grin finally began to falter as he stared down at them for what felt like hours. Once again, he was alone. Even if they didn't reset this time, which they would, of course they would, they always did; he had nothing to go back to. There was simply no one left. There was no point. Everything was just so goddamn pointless._

  
  


_He bit back a futile sob as the universe began to unravel around him once again-_

  
  


 

  
  


And he didn't fall.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt weightless, motionless. The darkness swarmed him, swallowed him. Utterly, mercilessly black.

  
  


And yet, he could see the bones in his hand as he waved it in front of his face, feel the texture of his ulna as he gave it a little pinch just to be sure. Even so, it all felt so foggy, so distant. Like he was watching it happen to someone else. He could feel his own body, but it was like it wasn't really there at all. The sinking feeling he got that if he stayed here for long could have dire consequences grew. Time was utterly irrelevant, and that alone scared him. There was that familiar little spark in his chest that rang out at nothing, and Sans found himself wandering through the dark. Was it a dream? If so, it was unlike any dream he'd ever had before. It felt too real, too lucid. Searching desperately for something, for someone, even if he didn't know what. He could hear something, he could feel something, but no matter how far he went it was never any closer. He was so tired. So exhausted. All he wanted to do was lie down and let the encroaching dark overcome him, let him rest, but he pressed on, forced to continue by something that he didn't quite understand.

  
  


 

  
  


“What – did – I – _tell_ – you?”

  
  


 

  
  


Huh. Something new. The voice he heard was cold, clipped, angry. His mind was foggy, his thoughts were sluggish and heavy, but anger he could definitely understand. He pushed toward it immediately, physically, mentally, his curiosity outgrowing his desperation. He could see a couple of figures hunched in the dark, one leaning over the other and shaking the one on the bottom by the shoulders. Both wore differently colored striped shirts, one in green and one in blue, almost like-

  
  


No, that was ridiculous. He refused to acknowledge it until he'd gotten a better look. At least until he heard the all too familiar begging, and his marrow ran cold.

  
  


They were hurting them.

  
  


They were hurting Frisk.

  
  


They were hurting _his kid._

  
  


“Please, p-please, I'm sorry! It won't happen again!”

  
  


“You're goddamned _right_ it won't happen again!” the figure atop Frisk shouted. “Because now we're fucking _dead!_ I told you, I _warned_ you to run when we had the chance, and you never, ever – _fucking_ – listen to me!” they screamed, shaking them with every punctuation. “And now because of _you_ , the things he's going to _do_ to us-!”

  
  


“Buddy.”

  
  


 

  
  


The figure atop Frisk _froze_ suddenly, head whipping toward him with flashing anger in their bright red eyes. Only for a moment, though. The anger was swift to drain to that of pure, unadulterated horror.

  
  


“You!? _You_ shouldn't be here!” the child that looked like Frisk's voice cracked, putting themselves between him and the human on the ground. Granted, they looked a _lot_ like Frisk, but he could spot several little differences almost immediately. Their eyes were wider. Cherry red. Their lips were peeled back in a horrible snarl as they tried to cover the child on the ground. As if they were the ones protecting Frisk from him. Funny. “You shouldn't _be_ here! When did you-? _How_ – this is _wrong_! This is all wrong, leave us _alone_! Get out!”

  
  


“Can't help but notice you're bullyin' my friend,” Sans's voice came out whispery, as if it wasn't really him saying it. He could feel his hands clenching in his jacket pocket in preparation, but most of the sensation was gone aside from a little pressure. “You... must really be lookin' for a bad time.”

  
  


“GET – _OUT_!”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt himself _thrown_ backwards by an unseen force, everything in his sight twisting, whipping and warping into everything and nothing, kaleidoscoping into hateful swirls of color and light and noise and pain...

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans jolted in the dark, gasping breathily and clutching his aching chest. He was fine. Everything was fine. He felt hot, far, far too hot, and limp, but it was fine.

  
  


Except that it _wasn't,_ because he was right back in bed, as if nothing had ever happened because of course nothing had happened yet it was going to happen all over again and again until the end of time and there was _nothing he could do but watch as everyone he loved died and it was so goddamn unfair!_

  
  


 

  
  


His screams echoed and bounced off the walls as he thrashed madly, profanity hatefully falling from his him as easily as the hysterical tears did, sobs wracking his chest. It wasn't right, it wasn't _fair_ , he didn't want to watch everyone die over and over again it wasn't right they were just a kid why didn't the universe just side with him for once? Sans kicked and thrashed and sobbed, punching futilely at the wall until the pain slowly drew him back, and even then it wasn't enough because he just felt so _weak_ , because of _course_ he was weak that's all he ever was he was too weak to protect anyone, too weak to even take care of himself and even his screams felt weak and it was all going to happen over and over and over and-

  
  


 

  
  


Sans wasn't certain when he snapped out of it. Only that at some point or another, he must have. He had to get back up. Had to force himself through the reset. He didn't want Papyrus to walk in on his dust.

  
  


 

  
  


He still felt nauseous, and sick, and horribly hungry and feeble, but not quite so uncomfortably hot. Unthinkingly he felt his forehead with the back of his hand to check the fever. Instead, he found a cool, damp cloth. Sans blinked, taking a few deep, steady breaths. Okay.

  
  


_Okay_.

  
  


So, this was new.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans took a few more deep breaths, his mind feeling fuzzy. He forced himself to sit, swinging his legs over the edge of his bed to stand and promptly stumbling the first few steps to the door, but he would make it. He _had_ to make it. Papyrus would wake him soon. Everything was starting over again. He barely made the effort to scrape his feet into his slippers. He had to hurry. Frisk needed him. They would be out in the snow, freezing to death or dying of illness...

Or slaughtering everyone that he knew and loved.

He wasn't sure which terrified him more, which was deeply upsetting for reasons that he didn't want to think about.

  
  


He only made it a couple of slow shuffling steps out of his bedroom door before he was halted in place by a pair of strong skeletal arms, literally forcing him still.

  
  


 

  
  


“Paps,” his voice came out dry and raspy, the desperation clear in his tone. He felt his head loll heavily to the side as he strained to stand.“Frisk! Frisk is _hurt_ -!”

  
  


“Brother, _brother_ ,” Papyrus knelt a little before him, speaking softly as one might a frightened animal. Sans glanced up at him, and though he still felt a bit hazy, recognized just how utterly _haggard_ Papyrus looked. There were deep lines under his eye sockets and his shoulders were stooped, but the growing smile on his face was genuine.

  
  


 

  
  


“Thank goodness,” Papyrus felt Sans's forehead with the back of his hand. Which seemed ridiculous to Sans, considering his brother wore gloves constantly, how could he even feel anything through them? “It's about time.”

  
  


“Papyrus!” Sans insisted, unable to squirm from his brother's grasp. “You don't understand, it's Frisk...!”

  
  


“Everything is okay,” he said quietly, but firmly, coercing him into staying still. “You don't have to worry, brother. I've taken care of everything.”

  
  


“Where are they?” Sans all but shouted, unable to tear himself from his brother's grasp. “They're hurt! Paps, they're hurt, they need _help_!”

  
  


“Sans!”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans flinched instantly at the sound of his brother's barking tone.

  
  


“Look at me.”

  
  


Sans glanced up again uneasily, his soul pounding in his chest.

  
  


 

  
  


“I have taken care of everything,” Papyrus slowly repeated like a mantra. “You don't have to worry. Okay? Just stay calm. It's going to be alright, brother. Just take it easy. You know what happens when you panic. Take a deep, long breath. Okay? Good. Breathe for me. That's very good. Just one thing at a time. Breathe.”

  
  


Sans took a few more shuddering breaths, closing his eyes and letting a sigh out through his teeth. It took several painstakingly long minutes before he could even start to slow the soul slamming in his ribcage, let alone the racket in his aching head.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Happy?” Sans asked a little snappishly, cracking open his eyes.

  
  


“No not really,” Papyrus frowned, and Sans cringed instantly. “I feel pretty terrible actually.”

  
  


“Sorry,” Sans rubbed the back of his neck, deeply ashamed. “Didn't-didn't mean it to come out that way.”

  
  


“I already forgive you, brother...” he gently placed his hand on his shoulders with a sad little smile. “I'm just glad to see you well again.”

  
  


Sans sighed and hugged his brother, wrapping his arms around his waist and feeling Papyrus's grip on his shoulders tightening a little. He could feel the tension dripping gradually away. God, he didn't ever want to let go.

  
  


“What... _happened_ last night, Paps?” Sans asked eventually, pulling away and looking up at him, searching his face.

  
  


“Nothing,” he replied instantly.

  
  


“Nothing my ass,” Sans scowled, and Papyrus harrumphed at the swear, but he paid it no mind.

  
  


“You've been a little... out of it,” Papyrus shifted from foot to foot, suddenly looking extremely uncomfortable. “You, erm. Haven't had a fit in quite a while.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt a sudden hot rush of embarrassment and shame, looking away.

  
  


“... Crap,” Sans said simply, running a shaking hand over his head. “P-Paps, I...”

  
  


“Don't feel too bad about it,” Papyrus patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. “I'm just glad your fever finally broke the other night.”

  
  


“You-you mean last night.”

  
  


“No, I mean the other night.”

  
  


“... I've been out for a whole day?” Sans balked at him.

  
  


“Two days, actually,” Papyrus corrected him.

  
  


“Oh _god_ ,” Sans ran a hand down his face, pushing past his brother as the hive of thoughts swarmed him all at once. “Oh god oh god Paps I think I messed up _bad_ this time, is the kid oka-”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans froze at the top of the stairs, and was down the steps before he realized it.

  
  


Time seemed to slow to a crawl for several seconds.

  
  


 

  
  


He saw the familiar green sweater that felt like he was looking at it just yesterday. And more importantly, the person inside of it was leaning over Frisk, red ponytail dangling in their face and oh god she was coming back to finish the job kicking them while they were down she was going to take their soul and everything would reset the evil bitch was smothering Frisk in their sleep he'd _kill_ her he'd kill her he was going to _rip her filthy soul out through her gills-_

  
  


“Get the FUCK _away_ from my kid!” Sans _screamed_ hatefully, feeling the burn of cyan magic in his eye and throwing out a hand immediately. Undyne's soul flickered blue, her head whipping wildly as she stared with one good eye in shock and surprise at him as she was hurtled sideways by the sudden change in gravity. She slammed against the wall, spread eagle, dropping something with a loud clunk as she shouted something incoherent at him. Or maybe it was just that he couldn't quite understand what she was saying, there was so much rushing in his head, she was hurting them...!

  
  


 

  
  


Sans rapidly found himself picked up completely off the ground in a full nelson hold. He kicked uselessly for several moments, desperate to stop Undyne, to keep them away from Frisk long enough to keep them safe, before Papyrus's voice finally made its way in.

  
  


 

  
  


“-t to stay calm,” he heard him muttering beside his head, calmly, soothingly, his grip on Sans not loosening in the slightest. “Just a dream, Sans. Let her go. Just a bad dream. You've got to stay _calm_. It's all over now. She's your friend. Remember? Undyne. It's Undyne. She's a friend. We're all friends here. It's okay, Sans. It's okay. You're in Snowdin. It's okay. I promise. I'm right here. Please, Sans. Snap out of it. Please. _Please_. I'm begging you. Come back to me, Sans.”

  
  


Sans's breathing caught in his chest as he promptly released the magic on Undyne, feeling as if his own weight were suddenly increasing by the moment as she dropped to the floor. It took him less than a second to recognize the familiar sizzle of magic as his floating bone attacks fizzled out of existence, the partially formed tibulas and fibulas vanishing in an instant. The full _horror_ of what he was doing, of what he'd very nearly almost _done_ rushed in on him at once, and he felt like being sick.

  
  


And then, to make matters worse, what he would have been forced to do if he had _actually_ killed Undyne.

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk was curled up on the couch, grasping at themselves uselessly with one shaking hand, the other covering their mouth like they were trying to stifle a scream. He met their eyes for only the briefest of moments, but it was enough. The petrified stare, the _fear_ that they looked at him with.

  
  


Maybe they knew what had very nearly happened, too. It was pretty likely, considering his last... incident.

  
  


Somehow, this only made him feel worse.

  
  


Didn't they _get_ it? Didn't they know that he was doing everything for their sake? Didn't they know that he was trying to _protect_ them for once? He meant well. Honestly he did.

  
  


The fact that they looked at him in such terror... hurt. Why did it hurt so much?

  
  


 

  
  


“... He's 'better' my ass,” Undyne rubbed her back with a spiteful look as she shakily stood, glowering at them. It was then that Sans noticed what she had dropped. It wasn't even close to a weapon staining the carpet. It was just an ordinary bowl of soup. A plain, spilled bowl of soup.

  
  


She was feeding Frisk a bowl of _soup_.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Don't you mean 'better my bass?'” Sans asked weakly, forcing a small grin.

  
  


“Yeah. He's fine,” Papyrus deadpanned, finally setting him down softly, but he could hear the relief in his voice. His hand never left his shoulder though, his grip tight enough to keep him in place.

  
  


“S-sorry 'bout that, gilfriend,” he gave a feeble chuckle, cringing at the heated glower that Undyne shot him. “I... uh. Thought you were... someone else?” he finished with a half shrug.

  
  


“Yeah,” Undyne said sharply, hissing and rubbing her back with one hand. “Because _so_ many other monsters have red hair, an eye patch, and blue freakin' skin.”

  
  


“You _sure_ you're okay, Sans?” Papyrus asked quietly.

  
  


“Yeah, 'course. Nothing gets under my skin.”

  
  


“ _I'm_ perfectly fine, thanks for asking,” Undyne dusted herself off with a slightly growing grin... proudly? “Damn, Sans. Didn't really think you had it in ya to pack a wallop like that.”

  
  


“I'm-I'm really, really sorry dude – Undyne. Captain,” Sans shifted awkwardly, wishing that he had his jacket on for somewhere to put his hands. He spotted it on the small set of hooks by the door beside a large puffy yellow coat that he assumed was Undyne's. “God. I-I, uh. Must not be... thinking clearly.”

  
  


“Evidently,” Sans was amazed that a fish could sound so _dry_.

  
  


 

  
  


Though to be perfectly honest, he found himself incredibly lucky that Undyne wasn't beating the living hell out of him. Sans seemed to snap back into himself after a few uneasy moments, his mind still feeling a little blurry. He slipped out of Papyrus's grasp and stood next to the couch, leaning a little over Frisk to feel their forehead to ensure that the fever was gone before slowly sitting beside them on the edge of the couch. He caught a glimpse of their almost closed eyes, paying closer attention.

  
  


_Brown_.

  
  


 

  
  


“... How ya doin', buddy?” he asked quietly, his face softening as he rubbed their head. “You feelin' any better?”

  
  


Frisk nodded silently a couple of times.

  
  


“Good,” he cupped their cheek in his hand, running his thumb tenderly beneath their eye. “Good. Thank _god_. Please, kiddo. Don't ever, _ever_ scare me like that again. I... I thought I'd almost lost you there. Don't _scare_ me like that. Okay, buddy?”

  
  


Frisk's lips were tight, but they nodded once more, looking guilty.

  
  


“I'm _serious_ , Frisk.” Sans looked them dead in the eyes, and their brows rose a little at the mention of their name. “I may not have organs, but kiddo, you are going to wind up giving me a _heart_ _attack_. You sure you're alright?”

  
  


They nodded once more, slowly, not looking away for a long moment.

  
  


“... Okay,” Sans closed his eyes and let out a long, uneven sigh, petting them on the head again. “Okay, buddy. I'll take your word for it.”

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans blinked and glanced up at Undyne, who was watching with an odd expression that he couldn't place, her arms crossed.

  
  


“... Yeah, Undyne.”

  
  


“Can I talk to you?”

  
  


“I'm right here,” he motioned down toward himself.

  
  


“I meant _outside_ ,” she replied through gritted teeth. It was obvious even to Sans that she was resisting punching him.

  
  


“It's a bit nippy.”

  
  


“I came prepared,” Undyne deadpanned, plucking her coat from the hook between her thumb and forefinger. Sans gave an internal sigh and gave Papyrus an apologetic look, to which his brother only nodded, as if giving him permission. He rose and trudged to the door, snagging his jacket on the way out.

  
  


 

  
  


Undyne was standing outside, staring up at the clouded ceiling and watching flakes of snow drift downward around them, her breath coming out through her nose in little white bursts of heat. Sans stood next to her for a while, looking up and peering through the magically formed clouds to see a couple of stalactites poking downward, almost as if the ceiling had teeth and they were all in the maw of a terrible beast. It certainly felt that way, sometimes.

  
  


Sans fished around in his jacket for a few moments before pulling something out, handing it to Undyne.

  
  


 

  
  


“... What is this?” she stared at the object he had dropped in her hand for a moment.

  
  


“What's it look like?” Sans stuck one corner of the treat in his mouth. “It's a dog biscuit.”

  
  


“Why do you have dog biscuits – on second thought,” Undyne frowned. “Considering who you work with, I can't say I'm all that surprised. I hope you don't expect me to actually _eat_ this garbage-”

  
  


Undyne only stared at him with a wide eye as he withdrew a lighter from his inside pocket, flicking it a couple of times and heating the end of the dog biscuit to a fiery red. He took in a long, deep drag before letting out a perfect ring of smoke through his nasal bone, letting it drift up and away.

  
  


“... You've gotta be _shitting_ me.”

  
  


“I'm a skeleton,” he shrugged simply. “I don't do that kind of thing.”

  
  


“Then why do you have a bathroom?”

  
  


“Because I'm _hygienic_ ,” Sans frowned a little.

  
  


“Have you _seen_ your room lately?” Undyne snorted, curiously taking the lighter from him and flicking it a few times to produce a steady flame, taking a few experimental puffs of her own biscuit. “... Huh. These don't taste like I expected 'em to. Not _good_ , just... y'know. Not bad, either.”

  
  


“That reminds me,” Sans reclaimed the lighter and stuck it back in his pocket, taking another breath and blowing out smoke. “I owe Doggo a whole box of these.”

  
  


“Hell, these aren't bad. Get me a box.”

  
  


“Don't think that's such a good idea, Undyne.”

  
  


“What?” her brows furrowed as she stared down at him. “You don't think I'm a big enough girl to handle a couple of dog treats now?”

  
  


“Eh. You'll find out in a minute,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I figured you wanted to talk to me about sommat before kicking my ass. Uh. Sorry about the whole 'trying to kill you' thing. By the way.”

  
  


 

  
  


Undyne only snorted again at his not very sincere apology. She wound up inhaling smoke through her nose, hacking and coughing feverishly. Sans didn't bother hiding his smirk.

  
  


“Who said I came to kick your ass? Besides. You caught me by surprise,” she rubbed her watering now red tinged eye with her free hand. “That's all. I could _totally_ kick your ass in a fair fight.”

  
  


“Uh, _duh_ ,” Sans rolled his eyes. “That's why I don't fight fair.”

  
  


“Yeah, but if we fought fought then I'd _totally_ win. And you'd cry. Like, a lot.”

“I know, Undyne. Kinda why I don't wanna fight you.”

  
  


“We're getting off topic-” Undyne rubbed at her temple with her knuckles. “I, eh... dammit. _Dammit_. I _know_ you dragged me out here for something. Wait, no, it was the other way around.”

  
  


Undyne paused, blinking. She slowly, calmly looked back and forth between Sans, the smoke, and the dog biscuit.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans,” she held the treat out from herself a little. “What _exactly_ is in these, by the way?”

  
  


“Oh. You know.”

  
  


And he said nothing else.

  
  


 

  
  


“... No,” she gritted her teeth. “I do _not_ know, smartass, that's why I'm asking!”

  
  


Sans only grinned up at her.

  
  


“... Oh my god,” she dropped the biscuit in the snow with a deadpan. “You little _shit_. You actually drugged me to keep me from _beating_ your bony white ass into the ground.”

  
  


“I told you,” his smirk widened. “I don't fight _fair_.”

  
  


“... Sans if I were not so ungodly _high_ right now I would make you regret the rest of your short life.”

  
  


“Not much change,” he shrugged, dropping his own biscuit and watching the smoking cherry fizzle out in the powdery snow. “Not like I don't regret my entire life already.”

  
  


“ _Dark_ , dude. You really are a completely different person when you're sick.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans had to fight to keep the surprise off of his face.

  
  


Of course that's what she would think. That was probably what Papyrus thought as well. He'd even scolded them beforehand about making sure _not_ to get sick. To them, it had probably seemed as if they'd both just come down with a terrible simultaneous illness.

  
  


But that raised the question...

  
  


What exactly _had_ happened?

  
  


It was entirely possible that he'd simply succumbed to exhaustion due to magically exerting himself, but that seemed a little far fetched. It didn't explain the sudden fever, the panicked, wild dreams, the hallucinations...

  
  


Were they hallucinations though? It had felt so real. He felt his fist tighten a little in his pocket at the thought. There had been another child, hurting Frisk. Shouting in their face, shaking them, he had been so furious. It had _felt_ real. Those unnerving, sharp red eyes. It felt too familiar, too surreal. That push in his head, the burning in his chest. Too many questions unanswered. He needed to find out if his suspicions were on track or not.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans.”

  
  


He blinked, having entirely forgotten where he was for a moment.

  
  


“Don't hurt the kid,” he begged instantly, turning toward her fully. “Undyne, _please_. I'll... I'll pick up extra sentry shifts! I can-”

  
  


“Sans,” she looked down at him with a frown, offended. “Do you even know _why_ I'm here?”

  
  


Sans didn't answer.

  
  


 

  
  


“Yeah, that's what I thought,” she sighed, crossing her arms and leaning against the house, staring out at Snowdin. “You... you know that Papyrus came to me asking about drug symptoms?”

  
  


Sans felt as if his bones had suddenly been filled with ice.

  
  


“They were like that when we found 'em,” Sans blurted, eye sockets widening.

  
  


“Yeah, he told me that part, bonehead,” Undyne rolled her eye. “But, man. You know Papyrus. He tried to explain it to me without actually explaining much of anything. I can't be too sure, but I think he was trying to avoid hurting my feelings or something.”

  
  


“So then why _are_ you here?” Sans asked suspiciously.

  
  


“Because I had too many questions and not enough answers,” she shrugged simply, pulling her coat a little tighter around her. “I, uh... actually got a look at the human, by the way. Real. Real good look.”

  
  


“You mean the-”

  
  


“Yeah,” Undyne finished before he could, staring with a hollow expression at nothing ahead of her. “ _That_.”

  
  


 

  
  


They fell silent for a little while.

  
  


“Just... _god_ ,” she shuddered eventually, looking ( _heh_ ) a little green around the gills. “I knew humans were nasty creatures, but, just... _god_!” Undyne threw out her arms in exasperation. “Even Gerson doesn't have scars like that!”

  
  


“I know, Undyne.”

  
  


“I mean, who would do that?” she asked in disgust, kicking a little at the snow. “To a kid! To one of their own! It's fucked up, dude!”

  
  


“I know, Undyne.”

“But _monsters_ are what they're afraid of? Seriously Sans, what the _fuck?_!”

“I know, Undyne.”

  
  


“So I thought – I, I thought...” Undyne rubbed her temples again, letting out an aggravated puff. “God. I don't know _what_ I thought. Paps was just so... freaked, you know? And I know him. He's one of my best friends. Not a lot phases that guy.”

  
  


“Yeah, Papyrus is pretty tough. Not much rattles him.”

  
  


“I don't even – Sans did you _really_ just make a skeleton pun. Right now.”

  
  


Sans couldn't hide a weak chuckle. It was that or break down crying again.

  
  


 

  
  


Undyne pinched the bridge of her thin nose, letting out a deep sigh.

  
  


“Sans I swear as soon as I come down from this I am _so_ kicking your ass.”

  
  


“Let me know if you find it,” he slapped his rear twice. “Mine went missing years ago.”

  
  


“Sans-”

  
  


“Probably for the best, old thing had a _huge_ crack in it.”

  
  


Undyne let out a single guffaw before clapping her hand over her mouth, and Sans crowed internally.

  
  


 

  
  


“Why can't I stay on topic,” she groaned and rubbed her face before holding up a hand. “Don't answer that, I know exactly why. Obviously I'm not here to kill somebody if I'm helping them eat stuff, dude.”

  
  


“Yeah, but... why?”

  
  


“Because they hadn't eaten in two days,” she stared at him as if he were stupid, which at that moment, he sincerely felt were true. “Man, you actually do have a thick skull.”

  
  


“So...” Sans shifted from foot to foot. “What changed?”

  
  


“What do you mean by that?” she frowned.

  
  


“Uh. The first time you met? Ring any bells?”

  
  


“That was different,” Undyne said defensively. “I'm not... it was weird,” her frown deepened a little, her brows knitting in thought. “I just got this... awful _feeling_ when I first saw them.”

  
  


“What'cha mean?”

  
  


“Like they'd killed someone I cared about.”

  
  


Sans very carefully, very firmly forced his expression to remain neutral.

  
  


“And... now you don't want to kill them. Forgive me if I'm kinda fuckin' suspicious.”

  
  


 

  
  


Undyne leveled a glare at him, causing him to flinch. Her gaze eventually softened a bit, and she sighed.

  
  


“I just... y'know. Actually tried what Paps suggested.”

  
  


“Friendship spaghetti?”

  
  


“Eh, we tried that too,” she said flippantly. “Barfed it up all over the place, just like everything else aside from Al's soup. She makes some good stuff. But I meant the sitting down and talking thing.”

  
  


“You talked,” Sans stared at her in utter disbelief. “ _You._ ”

  
  


“Yeah?” Undyne shrugged with one shoulder. “I just wanted to get some answers out of 'em, at first, but... I dunno. They're nice.”

  
  


“Yeah, well-”

  
  


“ _Too_ nice,” she scowled again. “It's _disgusting_. Scars just prove how _tough_ you are, how is that kid not freakin' indestructible?”

  
  


Sans almost laughed at that.

  
  


Almost.

  
  


 

  
  


“Just...” Undyne started awkwardly, shivering in the cold. “They're... I mean, damn. They're just a kid. Kid's shouldn't have battle scars like that, dude.”

  
  


“I don't think those are from any fight they could have won, Undyne.”

  
  


“I-I... know that,” her face darkened for a moment. “I offered to show 'em my scar to see if it cheered them up any.”

  
  


“You mean your eye?” Sans blinked again.

  
  


“No, I mean the one on my left butt cheek,” she said, leaning around and looking behind her a little to pry open her pants a bit. “Got a nasty one when I tried to jump Asgore's trid-”

  
  


She clammed up and straightened immediately, her cheeks actually tinging a little pink.

  
  


 

  
  


“Anyway,” she coughed conspicuously into her hand. “Fact of the matter is, I can't get much outta the human aside from wimpy goody two shoes crap and weird ass apologies that don't make any sense. So, as your boss,” she said with added emphasis. “I'm making it your official job to find out everything you can about the kid.”

  
  


“So _then_ you can kill them.” Sans deadpanned.

  
  


“Dude, _no_ ,” Undyne slapped him in the back of the head. “You're gonna actually do your _job_ , we're gonna find some mean human that'll fall down eventually, and then we're gonna cross the barrier, and after that we're gonna hunt down the sum'bitches that _did_ that to a little kid and teach 'em the real meaning of _pain_!” she pounded one fist into her hand with a manic grin.

  
  


“... Undyne,” Sans said after a long, long moment. “I think I finally have a little respect for you.”

  
  


“We're totally gon- excuse you? 'The _fuck_ do you mean, 'finally'?!”

  
  


Sans only laughed, shaking his head.

  
  


 

  
  


They fell silent again after a little while. Eventually Sans looked back up at her, uncertain.

  
  


“So... you're _not_ gonna hurt the kid.”

  
  


“ _No, Sans._ I think Paps would sooner tear off his favorite arm rather than let somebody hurt them,” she gave him a flat stare. “Besides, somehow I get the feeling that you're kinda keen on taking care of them.”

  
  


“Gee golly what gave it away,” Sans said emotionlessly.

  
  


“Are-are you serious?” she cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Dude, when you saw that the human was okay, your face lit up like a neon sign.”

  
  


Sans felt his face heating a little, which was harder to ignore than he would have anticipated.

  
  


“Their name is Frisk.”

  
  


“I'm serious!” she grinned and ignored him, punching his shoulder playfully. “You look at that kid the way a drowning sailor looks at a life raft. You think I don't know you wouldn't be a little pissed if I offed 'em?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans's head slowly, gradually turned toward her, and she cringed a little to see that his eye sockets were completely devoid of light.

  
  


“Buddy,” he said without budging an inch. “You'd be _dead where you stand.”_

  
  


Undyne shivered again, and this time it certainly wasn't from the cold.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Kidding,” Sans shrugged with a little grin, the lights in his eyes back. “Kidding, of course. Come on, Undyne. 'Course I'm kidding. You know I can't fight.”

  
  


“I dunno about that...” Undyne's grin slowly returned, though she was clearly still uncomfortable. “Threw one of a hell of a punch with that blue magic of yours. You _sure_ you don't wanna join the royal guard, too?”

  
  


“Positive,” he said immediately. “That's always been my bro's thing, Undyne. Though, uh, while you're out here, I do have a question. You use... green magic, usually, right?”

  
  


“Uh, doi?” she blinked. “What, have you never watched me and Paps train?”

  
  


“Yeah, of course. Is there much of a difference between the thing you do, and, say... healing magic? I mean, it's _all_ green magic, or...?”

  
  


“Uh, doi?” Undyne repeated. “You can't heal somebody with combat magic. That'd just be weird.”

  
  


“R-right.”

  
  


“Besides,” she continued. “Even an idiot could tell you how careful you have to be with healing magic.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans suddenly felt very, very uneasy.

  
  


“Because it's complicated,” he rubbed his knuckles together in his pockets. “Like blue magic? You know. Maintaining focus to knit cellular structure back together-”

  
  


“Pfft, what?” she scoffed. “Dude, _no_ , that's not how it works. It's all about intent.”

  
  


“That-that too...”

  
  


“No, man. It's complicated _because_ it's simple,” she tried to explain. “If your intentions aren't one hundred percent pure, all the way through your soul, if you're unsure, even a _little_ , you could wind up doing some real damage instead of patching somebody up. Green magic is always best left to professionals,” she thumped her chest a little proudly.

  
  


Sans felt like being ill. The horrible sinking feeling in his stomach grew no matter how much he tried to fight it. Then again, he couldn't very easily fight off his own self loathing that was growing more intense by the second. She must have seen the look on his face and mistaken it for something else, as she clapped a hand on his shoulder a moment later.

  
  


 

  
  


“Oh my god, dude,” Undyne beamed at him. “Me, you and Paps; we should train! I could _totally_ teach you how to fuck somebody up for good with green magic!”

  
  


Sans quietly and politely declined.

  
  


Besides.

  
  


 

  
  


He was pretty sure that he'd accomplished that already.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


A short distance away, a small yellow flower vanished into the ground.

 


	9. My Own Worst Enemy

0-0-0-0-0

 

  
  


Papyrus stared long and hard through the dark up at the ceiling, letting out a quiet sigh.

  
  


 

  
  


Why was it like this so often? He was just so _tired_. All he wanted to do was rest. He held his eye sockets closed, steadying his breathing and attempting to clear his mind yet again, already knowing how futile it was. But there was only futility in surrender, right? So he just had to keep fighting.

  
  


 

  
  


… _I think I can keep going today._

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus felt a tightness in his chest as his thoughts resumed and the creeping loneliness began to stealthily crawl back, refusing to be stilled. He had to keep going. No matter how tired he was, no matter if it felt like he was steadily running out of life to give, no matter how much it hurt, he just had to keep going. His thoughts wandered with his eyes to his alarm clock, and he stared at the red lighting. Obviously an hour of sleep was going to have to suffice for today, too. Well, a little under an hour, but who was counting? Besides, he couldn't allow himself more than three or four hours of sleep at a time, anyway. That's how 'the dreams' came back. All he had to do was stay on his toes and everything would be fine.

  
  


He wondered if that was why Sans had bad dreams so often. He just slept too much.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus desperately wished that he could sleep, too.

  
  


His brother needed him. Sans needed him to be strong, for him. And now there was a new addition to the household. Frisk needed him to be strong. The little one needed so, so much, and Papyrus's soul ached with his fear that no matter what he did, no matter how much he gave, it would never be enough to heal them. But he had to fight against those feelings. He was good at fighting. A small part of him was thoroughly upset at that. He just had to keep going, and everything would be fine.

  
  


He sighed again, holding a hand out above him through the dark, reaching out for something that not even he could see. It almost felt like he was reaching out to someone, sometimes. Wondering, he slowly twisted his hand, staring at his fingertips. It was one of the few times that he actually felt like he could take his gloves off without fear and _dear god was there a HOLE in his hand?!_

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus jolted upright, flexing his fist wildly in shock.

  
  


No. No, of course not. His hand was fine. It had the same nasty, jagged scar across the top, just like always. He was being silly. He let out an uneasy breath, running a hand down his face to hide his sigh. This always happened when he didn't get enough sleep. He started seeing things. Strange things. Papyrus tried to force himself to lie back down, squeezing his eyes shut. Just try to get what little sleep he could before the alarm went off in a few minutes.

  
  


 

  
  


He heard a low, loud, unsteady moan echo from his brother's room and cringed. It would seem that Sans wasn't sleeping too well, either. His chest ached at the thought. He desperately hoped that it wasn't another one of the worse nightmares, but even if it was, he knew that Sans would refuse to tell him. He was always doing that, even when Papyrus knew. Seeing the worry in his eyes, forcing that pained, struggling little smile and pretending that everything was okay. He hated it. But his brother needed him. For him, he would keep fighting. He'd fight like hell. He'd fistfight god himself, if he had to, for them. He just had to keep going. Everything would be fine. Papyrus preemptively shut off the alarm, dragging himself out of bed and silently getting dressed.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus let out a frustrated breath through his teeth. He had forgotten to do the dishes last night after Undyne had come to visit and they had all watched movies together, with Papyrus and Undyne sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the couch with Sans and Frisk behind them. Momentarily he wondered if breakfast spaghetti would suffice for the others. He just wasn't feeling hungry. Certainly not nearly as hungry as Undyne had been. It was odd, though. Undyne had been behaving awfully strangely the previous night. He shrugged it off. After seeing what had happened to Frisk, he had behaved 'strangely' for a little while, too. But he couldn't let himself think about that when there were things to be done.

  
  


 

  
  


He found his turmoil slowly dwindling away as the soapy water ran over his hands, the clink and clank of dishes against the sink the only noise in the house. This was something that he could do. Something simple that required no focus or annoying thoughts that he didn't want to think about, just simple action. Besides, he always felt better when things were clean. He could focus solely on getting things done in a productive manner without having to think about scars or exhaustion or those tearful red eyes looking up at him apologizing for killing him or his brother slowly wasting away and being utterly powerless to do anything to help-

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus forcefully slapped the side of his head with a soapy hand a couple of times, trying to keep his breathing steady. Everything was going to be _fine_. If he started to fall apart then everything else would inevitably begin to come unraveled, as well. What about his loved ones that needed him to be strong? What about all of the other people that needed him to be strong? Undyne needed him to be strong, too. If he was ever going to join the royal guard, then he had to be tougher than tough, and more than that. Being strong was more than just physicality or magical prowess to Papyrus. People needed to be able to see him and know that they could rely on him. Not laugh at him behind his back.

  
  


His fists clenched and unclenched in the water.

  
  


 

  
  


Why didn't any of them _get_ it? Why was it so hard to understand that all he wanted to do was _help_ people? Why didn't anyone care that all he wanted was to be accepted for who he was? He knew the kinds of things that people said when they thought that he couldn't hear. Too tall. Too lanky. Too loud. Not smart enough. Not brave enough. Not cool enough. Not strong enough.

  
  


 

  
  


No. It was more than that.

  
  


Strength wasn't just a symbol. It was something that he should have, something he had to have in order to protect the people that he cared about. To protect everyone. And maybe someday, if he just kept going, he would be as strong as he needed to be. As strong as he wished he could be. Maybe someday, it would finally be enough.

  
  


Maybe, someday, someone would finally look up to him.

  
  


But he had to be strong.

  
  


For Undyne.

  
  


For Frisk.

  
  


For Sans.

  
  


For everyone.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus tried to keep his shoulders from shaking. He was just so, so tired. He felt like a cassette tape that had been played far too many times. Burned out. Worn thin. But that didn't matter. All that mattered was that the people he loved were happy. For that, he had to be happy, to look happy. Even if he was tired of it, so tired that sometimes he really wondered if it was even worth it, but he had to keep going. And if that meant that he had to keep putting on a brave smile, keep standing tall and spreading as much happiness as he could, he would keep on doing it no matter how much it felt like he were dying inside. No matter how much it hurt.

  
  


 

  
  


For them.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk munched happily on the iced cinnamon bunny that Papyrus had gotten for them that morning before parting ways, sitting on the edge of Sans's sentry station and kicking their legs in contentment. They had kept the hood up on the jacket that Papyrus had given them all through Snowdin, but had finally let it down, and snow was beginning to stick to their hair. Sans sat back in his rickety wooden chair with his arms behind his head, watching the snowflakes gently tumble around them as his mind wandered.

  
  


 

  
  


After Papyrus's boisterous voice had left them, Snowdin's forest just felt emptier. Colder, too. Sans let out a quiet sigh through his nasal bone, closing his eyes. It would be fine though. He had a new job tacked onto his already hefty list of work to slack off on. Find out what he could about the kid. Seemed simple enough. Then again, ever since Papyrus had left they had suddenly become mute, focusing instead on their treat. That was fine with Sans. He would get what he wanted out of them one way or another. All he had to do was be patient. He didn't have a problem with that. Even thinking that way made him uncomfortable, but he brushed it aside. It wouldn't be a problem. He didn't have problems.

  
  


 

  
  


Undyne's words of warning the previous night before her departure drifted into his mind, and he found himself frowning.

  
  


_I can't guarantee that little punk's safety if they're out on their own,_ she had said quietly. _Don't let them out of Snowdin, got that? Keep them on a short leash._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans almost snorted. Obviously she hadn't meant it literally, but at least it would keep them out of trouble. He wondered what they would look like, if he were to literally get them a leash. Red collar, to match the stripe on the jacket that Papyrus had made for them? Probably blue. It seemed better color coordination. Definitely blue. He might even be able to convince anyone that asked that they were just a weird puppy. He'd likely have to train them to walk on all fours though, get them a pair of false puppy ears to stick up from their hair and a cute little tail-

  
  


 

  
  


“... Oh _god_ maybe I _do_ have a problem,” Sans muttered miserably into his hands, rubbing his face. What the hell was wrong with him?

  
  


It was the stress. It had to be the _stress_. Everything was piling up on him at once, things were changing quickly and his mind was struggling to keep up with reality, and the stress of it all was getting to him. That had to be it. If he could just close his eyes, if he could just rest, he would be fine. Maybe he could stop feeling terrible and actually live with himself for a bit. But he doubted it.

  
  


“... Sans?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans blinked and straightened up, forcing a smile at Frisk, who was licking their fingers to clean the stickiness from them. They lapped quietly at the sweet frosting on their fingers the entire while, not taking their eyes off his. Carefully. Slowly.

  
  


_Too slowly._

  
  


Like they were... teasing him?

  
  


And more unnerving...

  
  


Like they _knew_.

  
  


 

  
  


“What's up, buddy?” he grinned uneasily, vainly pretending that the sudden provoking heat wasn't intensely bothering.

  
  


“... Are you okay? Are you hungry, Sans?” Frisk gradually held out another wrapped cinnamon bunny that they pulled from their pocket. “I-I have another, if you want to share...”

  
  


“Nah, I'm good,” he shook his head slowly. “Thanks for the offer, though, friend-o. Why don't you hang on to that for now?”

  
  


Frisk eventually nodded and stuck the treat back into their pocket, looking away. He had to tear his eyes away after a while, staring out through the trees. It was the _stress_. He was exhausted and repressed and it was manifesting in his thoughts in an irrational manner and all he needed was a few drinks and some good rest and everything would be fine. He was supposed to get information from them. But that would come in its own time. Why couldn't they just sit here in silence for a while?

  
  


He wondered if the thought was a sullen one. It might have been. He wasn't sure what had caused his mood to flip so suddenly as he watched them hop off the station, playing with something that he couldn't see in the snow. On second thought, he _did_ know what had bothered him so much, but he certainly wasn't going to admit it to himself, let alone them. _That_ train of thought could go _straight off the edge of a cliff._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sighed and closed his eyes, trying to let his mind wander to other, more pleasant things. They could stay like this for just a while longer before he started prying. Maybe he would crack out a book that he kept inside his sentry station. Would Frisk like to be read to? Perhaps he could read one of his spare physics books to them and bore them to sleep like it did Papyrus. Or maybe he'd find one of Papyrus's books, one of his many fantasy stories. Sleeping Frisk was a trouble-less Frisk.

  
  


It then occurred to him that he'd never actually read anything to them at all. He wondered if _anyone_ had ever read them anything, at all.

  
  


Guilt began to rise in Sans's chest once again. He did not care for the feeling.

  
  


He was supposed to be taking care of them, and instead he'd dragged them around, hated their guts, made them petrified of the color blue and (sometimes brutally) killed them more times than he could even count anymore.

  
  


_Yeah._ _Kind of fucking dropped the ball THERE, didn't you, asshole?_

  
  


 

  
  


Sans let out a slow, miserable breath through his teeth, not opening his eyes.

  
  


He was going to do better.

  
  


Eventually.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans wasn't sure how long he had been asleep.

  
  


 

  
  


He groaned and rubbed his aching head, feeling as if he were going to be sick. It was strange, coming out of the rare dreamless nap had almost felt just like the yanking sensation he felt whenever a reset-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans _jolted_ awake, feeling pulled in too many directions. He gasped, clutching his aching chest, lights in his eye sockets whirling when he discovered Frisk was nowhere near him. He cursed loudly, pain and growing fury pounding inside his head. Why didn't the reset take them back to the other day? Were they actively choosing new 'starting' points to reset from now? Was that how it worked? He had question after question piling up. Couldn't he close his eye sockets for _five_ minutes? Why didn't that damned kid ever _listen_ to him? What was it going to take to make them _behave_? Thankfully, there was plenty of snow around, meaning that he could easily trace their footsteps before they managed to get too far and incite another reset-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans had to bite back a pained scream as the universe unraveled again, and he fell out of his chair. Was this the fifth time it had happened? Ninth? Twelfth? The resets were occurring too fast, in such rapid succession. He wanted to be sick, but there was nothing on his stomach, and he wound up with painful dry heaves as he clutched his stomach, gasping for breath. The screaming behind his eyes was so loud, he just wanted it to _fucking end!_

  
  


 

  
  


He seethed, wobbling a little and forcing himself to his feet, all pretense of remaining calm gone straight out the window. His thoughts were such a jumble, he could hear white noise and static in his head and it sounded like HIM and hell's bells what was even going on anymore? They couldn't be resetting on purpose, it was too unlikely. He needed to find them. He needed to find them. They were being hurt because the stupid little shit couldn't stay out of trouble, his kid, it belonged to _him,_ someone was hurting his kid and _god help them he was going to make them SUFFER!_

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans _screamed_ angrily, kicking his way out of his sentry station and stumbling, sweating heavily and half blind from pain through the snow. It was too hard to focus, too hard to breathe but he had to fight, had to keep going. He stomped hatefully through a few of Frisk's tracks that they had left behind minutes (hours? Days?) ago, despair clawing at his chest as he saw that they had apparently started wandering in circles at some point. He swore vehemently, closing his eyes and drawing deep for magic.

  
  


_He felt the spark._

  
  


 

  
  


It stunned him, almost enough to shake off the _blinding fucking rage,_ but not quite enough. It was definitely enough to startle and unnerve him though. It was unfamiliar and eerily too familiar at the same time, and some part of him recognized why. He reached for that warmth, that little spark, almost throwing himself into the shortcut. Darkness swarmed around him like an angry hive, tearing and pulling at him, but he remained sturdy. He fell from the teleport almost a foot into a snowbank, promptly pulled himself from his knees and dragged himself forward, almost instinctively. It felt a little silly, just going in a seemingly random direction.

  
  


At least, until he heard Frisk's voice, and his buzzing mind hit a snag again.

  
  


 

  
  


There had been absolutely no logical procedure of following Frisk's footsteps, not even a simple educated guess on where they had gone. He'd just... done it. He had simply _felt_ it. Somewhere, somehow, he had reached out with his magic and just _known_ something that he had no possible way of knowing, and it was absolutely _disturbing_.

  
  


He could have time to figure it out later. When his thought process wasn't in utter shambles.

  
  


After he'd found whoever was making them reset and personally dragging them kicking and screaming to hell, that is.

  
  


 

  
  


“Please,” he heard them before he saw them, on their knees as if trying to hold something with their back to him. Their arms were at an odd angle in front of them, wasn't that uncomfortable? Unless... “Please, I-I k-know you can... can do b-better...”

  
  


And then came the laugh.

  
  


That familiar, high pitched, reedy, god awful horrendous _laugh_.

  
  


 

  
  


“You really are an idiot,” Sans dared to peer around one of the trees, hidden just enough in the shadows to prevent having his position given away. “If you honestly believe that you must be even stupider than you look-”

  
  


The flower paused and tilted a little from around Frisk, looking directly at Sans.

  
  


And it fucking _smirked at him._

  
  


Sans didn't bother listening to him finish. It wasn't like he could hear him over his own screaming, anyway.

  
  


 

  
  


There was a flare of blue light and tearing sound as bones ripped through the air almost fast enough to puncture the sound barrier. Instead of pulling the vines from their arms, they were _yanked_ as a slightly surprised Flowey ducked laughing a bare moment before the bones collided in the spot he had just been, burying themselves into the earth. Frisk screamed his name as they were jerked roughly by the arms to the ground with the plant's departure, their face colliding with the snow and dirt hard as they were dragged several meters away before finally coming to a violent halt against a tree.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans bolted over the ground, nearly losing one of his slippers in the process, his head pounding so hard that it was difficult to see. He almost tripped over himself and dropped to his knees beside them, grabbing them roughly by the shoulders and _throwing_ them both into a shortcut faster than he thought he even could.

  
  


They fell from the teleport a moment later onto the living room carpet, dropping snow everywhere.

  
  


 

  
  


“WHAT THE _FUCK_ IS YOUR _PROBLEM_?!” Sans bellowed in their face, shaking them by the shoulders to emphasize. “WHAT – DID I – _TELL_ YOU, YOU _DUMB SHIT!_ You... y-you...”

  
  


What was _wrong_ with him?

  
  


They were in pain and they needed him, he loved them why was he _hurting them?_

What in the actual _fuck was wrong with him?!_

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk was sobbing and desperately trying to cover their face as if he was going to hit them, and collapsed like a rag doll to their knees the moment he released them, shame and horror plain on his features. He couldn't bite back the cringe of self disgust, and his breathing was labored as he gradually lowered himself on his knees to the floor in front of them, pulling the crying child into a gentle trembling hug in his lap. He pushed vehemently against the urge to puke at his own disgust, focusing instead entirely on them. They fought against him weakly for a moment, their whines growing louder and more desperate, their voice cracking as they blubbered meaningless fearful apologies.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Oh god,” he murmured into their ear, rocking them gently back and forth as they wept into his chest. “Oh god, oh god oh _shit_ I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, p-please, please babybones just look at me; it's okay, don't cry, it's all gonna be okay, Christ I'm so _sorry_ , I'm sorry kid, b-babybones – Frisk... F-Frisk,” Sans felt like being sick again. “I didn't mean it, I-I swear I didn't mean it I was just mad, I'm so sorry, shh, _shh it's okay_ please, please don't cry kiddo, g-god I'm so _sorry_...!”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk sobbed and cried in his arms, quavering and trying to hide inside themselves to no avail. He only let his own tears trail down his face, stroking the back of their head and whispering assurances that all felt so empty. His stomach was in violent, angry knots and his chest was burning painfully. They needed him. They needed him, they cried out for _him_ and he _hurt_ them.

  
  


He _hated_ them. He hated them for making him _do_ this. He hated them for making him _feel_ this. He hated them for making him into this.

  
  


But he hated himself so, so much more.

  
  


 

  
  


He didn't know how long they were there in the dark. He didn't care. It didn't matter. Maybe nothing ever did.

  
  


“I'm sorry...” he petted the back of their head as they sobbed dryly against him, his own tears having dried away to leave him with a sick, clawing feeling in his stomach. “Shh. Please. Please, don't cry. I'm so sorry, babybones. It's okay now. You're _okay_. I never, never meant to hurt you. Please, _please_ god I'm _so_ sorry Frisk.”

  
  


 

  
  


He didn't know when exactly they fell into complete silence, with him slowly, gently rocking them back and forth, their shoulders still heaving quietly. He just knew that his voice had finally gone hoarse from repeating himself. He hated himself. He was such a loathsome, disgusting, miserable creature. He could barely call himself a monster.

  
  


Everything about him was wrong.

  
  


He would have wished for death if he knew that it would last. He knew from experience that it didn't. But, god, maybe he deserved it.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk breathed against him, hair hiding their eyes. “I-”

  
  


“Shh,” he held a finger to their lips, pulling them into another hug, slowly moving from their position so that he could sit against the couch without dropping them. Were they always this light, this frail? “It's not your fault. Okay, babybones? Don't cry. Please don't cry. It's not your fault.”

  
  


“Please don't be mad at me,” they shivered, pulling their arms a little closer to themselves without letting go of the front of his shirt. “I'll be good, I'm g-good, Sans please-”

  
  


“Babybones,” he started, running the palm of his hand down the side of their face softly. They hissed sharply when he did so, and when he pulled his hand away he found that it was sticky and warm.

  
  


It was dark inside.

  
  


Not dark enough.

  
  


 

  
  


There was blood on their jacket.

  
  


There was blood on him.

  
  


Once more, without fail, their blood was on his hands.

  
  


And Sans felt himself die a little on the inside.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Shit,” his breath finally returned after a few seconds. “Shit, oh god kid you're-you're _bleeding_ , hang-hang on...!”

  
  


He carefully picked them up and sat them gently on the couch, scrambling for the light switch. Of course, this just made them look even worse. Their face was scratched and cut and bruised and marred with tear streaked dirt. The cut seemed to be just above their temple and bleeding slowly but steadily, and their eye was black and a little swollen from their high speed introduction to the pine tree. He at least knew that he wasn't the one responsible for this, however terrible a consolation that might have been, if he hadn't just rushed in Frisk wouldn't be in so much pain.

  
  


And when he found that flower he was going to slowly _mulch it from the roots up._

  
  


 

  
  


“Okay,” Sans wiped his hand down his face, ignorant of the blood staining his cheek. “Okay. Oh god. It-it's not bad, don't cry...! Oh god, just – just be still for me, o-okay, F-Frisky-bits? Just sit still. We'll get some band-aids, u-uh, oh _fuck_ that's a _lot_ of blood... It's gonna be okay. I _promise_. I promise,” stroking their head with one hand, he held a palm over their cut worriedly and desperately plunged for his magic, drawing it out from as deep inside as he could. They touched his hand worriedly with their left, as if uncertain. The burning, writhing in his chest was back and he felt like he was going to sob and be ill all at once and they were hurt and god just when he thought he couldn't _possibly feel more horrible...!_

  
  


All he wanted to was to hold them close until the hurt went away.

  
  


The realization hit him like a brick to the head. A brilliant flare of green lit up his palm for the briefest of moments, illuminating their face even more brightly as he observed the oozing cut start to magically repair itself, like watching a zipper. Their breathing hitched and stopped altogether as they shivered intensely, their eyes growing wide and mouth going a little slack. He felt a bit queasy just watching the cut, forcing his tired eyes away to look into their red ones-

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt the surging warmth in his chest twist darkly.

  
  


Frisk cringed instantly, letting out a shivering, moaning sob. Their face contorted too rapidly, from fear, to pain, to drooling, eye rolling euphoria and something in between that lit something primal and needy in his soul and it _scared_ him just how completely and utterly fucked up it was. He reluctantly fought back against the swelling dread and tried to forcefully focus instead on thoughts of hope, thoughts of healing. Vibrant memories of Papyrus, his smiling face beaming up at him proudly. The first time he had caught Papyrus dancing by himself. The first time that they had built his bed, how happy he was for the present. The rising joy Sans had felt in his soul when he saw that pure, genuine smile on the face of the little skeleton that didn't get to smile nearly often enough.

  
  


He wanted them to have that smile, too.

  
  


_I just want them to smile._

  
  


_I just want them to be okay._

  
  


_I just want them to be safe._

  
  


_I just want them to be happy._

  
  


 

  
  


…

  
  


_I just want them to be healed._

  
  


_I just want them to be loved._

  
  


_I just want to care again._

  
  


…

  
  


 

  
  


_I just want to care again._

  
  


_I just want to love again._

  
  


 

  
  


No matter what they did. No matter what they became. No matter what happened.

  
  


He had to choose.

  
  


_It was him or them._

  
  


_I just want to love again._

  
  


 

  
  


_Shelter._

  
  


Hurt.

  
  


_Protect_.

  
  


Fight.

  
  


_Defend_.

  
  


Reject.

  
  


_Heal_.

  
  


Break.

  
  


_Rejuvenate_.

  
  


Defile.

  
  


_Hope_.

  
  


Despair.

  
  


_Inspire_.

  
  


Hate.

  
  


_Hold._

  
  


Shake.

  
  


_Laugh_.

  
  


Love?

  
  


 

  
  


… _Love._

  
  


 

  
  


The light from his hand had long, long since gone out. He was just so _tired_. He was unsure of how long he'd been sitting beside them, his hand over their face, gently wiping away the long since stopped stream of tears. The swelling in their eye had finally gone down, but it was still clearly bruised. He couldn't even be certain if exhaustion had claimed him again as he slipped in and out of focus, like his mind was blurring into something that he couldn't quite identify. Like watching them and watching himself back at the same time. And just like that it was over, like he'd been pulled back into the waking world by their touch alone. Their hands were cold, and shaking, but their touch was gentle when they reached up and brushed his cheeks, their brown eyes wide.

  
  


 

  
  


“S-Sans...” Frisk said breathily, their cheeks a cherry red.

  
  


“I'm sorry,” he rasped, his tongue feeling as heavy as his aching head. “I'm so sorry, kid-”

  
  


“... 'Frisky-bits...?'”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans paused.

  
  


He stared at them for what felt like an eternity. Out of all of the things that they could have said, they picked that. Maybe it was the magical strain. Maybe it was the rampant fighting emotions he couldn't figure out what to do with. Maybe it was the stress. Either way, he let out a laugh. And he kept laughing.

  
  


“I'm sorry, babybones,” he whispered, squeezing them close and rubbing their back.

  
  


“You don't have to be sorry,” Frisk weakly hugged him back, nuzzling against him, apparently not minding the blood on his shirt. “I forgive you.”

  
  


God, this kid really just didn't get it. He didn't _deserve_ to be forgiven.

  
  


And yet, they looked at him with mercy regardless. With leniency and forgiveness in their eyes. What kind of person, what kind of _creature_ could possibly do that?

  
  


And it _hurt_.

  
  


Were they intentionally being this cruel to him? Didn't they know that they were tearing him apart from the inside out? Didn't they know how much _simpler_ everything would be if they just sank to his level and hated him back?

  
  


And stars, he despised himself for thinking that way.

  
  


He hated himself _so much._

  
  


 

  
  


“I didn't mean to scare you babybones,” Sans said eventually. His throat felt dry and sore, but he didn't care. They weren't bleeding. They weren't crying. They weren't even flinching when he held them. They just stared at him with a flushed, unsteady look that he couldn't identify.

  
  


“I'll be good...” Frisk shifted, climbing into his lap and holding him around the neck.

  
  


“I know. I know, kiddo. You're a good kid. Just... stay away from dangerous shit like that flower bastard. Please.”

  
  


“He can be good, too,” they started, but Sans cut them off.

  
  


“How many times did he kill you, kid?”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk looked away, ashamed.

  
  


“I was... getting through to him...” they fidgeted.

  
  


“There is no 'getting through' to that thing,” he responded tiredly, really not in the mood to let his anger kick in again and nipping it in the bud before it could blossom. “He isn't going to show you MERCY back, buddy. Trust me.”

  
  


“How do you know?” Frisk asked sadly, looking back to him. “He... he can be good, too. I know he can. He j-just... needs somebody to-to show him how.”

  
  


“Frisk. Frisk,” he held their chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing them to look him in the eye sockets. “Look at me. Don't. Ever. Do that. _Again_. Capiche? Stay away from it.”

  
  


“His name is Flowey.”

  
  


 

  
  


Oh god were they _pouting_ now?

  
  


“Will you _listen_ -” he growled, causing them to cringe, and Sans drew in a sharp breath through his teeth before forcing himself still, softly resuming stroking the back of their head with the tips of his phalanges. “Please. Listen to me, kiddo,” he continued quietly. “He's not... he's not good. Like you. Okay? That thing is not a good person. I don't think he's even a _person_ at all.”

  
  


Frisk looked _horrified_ at this, and miserable, and hurt all at the same time.

  
  


 

  
  


“Shit, I-I didn't...” Sans gripped them more tightly, as if he could just make them understand. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry I snapped like that, babybones. It isn't your fault. It's-it's just...” he ran a hand over the top of his head with an unsteady breath, feeling his bones rattle. “It's the goddamned _resets_. Do-do you have any idea what they do to me?”

  
  


Frisk slowly shook their head, staring at him uncertainly.

  
  


 

  
  


“It hurts,” he tried to explain, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. He didn't want them to hate him. He just wanted them to understand. “It... it hurts a lot. It... _scrambles_ my head. Y'know?” Sans muttered, growing more quiet. “Makes it... makes it hard t'think. I'm not... Please. Please, just understand, kiddo. I'm not... in my right mind right-right now. I'm not always _me_ when I come back. Y'know?”

  
  


It was a testament to his surprise that Frisk held their forehead against his, letting out an unhappy breath.

  
  


“... I know,” Frisk nodded after a moment. “I know, Sans. I... I get it. Sometimes, when-when I come back, w- I...” they looked away, embarrassment and discomfort plain on their face. “... I'm not always me when I come back, either.”

  
  


 

  
  


The dream child.

  
  


The one that had made him so angry.

  
  


The one that hurt Frisk.

  
  


The one with red eyes.

  
  


 

  
  


Several theories began formulating all at once, bouncing around his already worn out mind. He had so many questions. He didn't have time for this. It felt like there were puzzle pieces just sitting in front of him and he was too exhausted and stupid to put it together. It felt like it had been days since he'd last slept. He needed rest. But there was that constant ache in his chest, that burning spark that refused to go out, forcing him to continue.

  
  


The same feeling he got when he had, against all logic and reason, almost pinpointed Frisk's location in the forest.

  
  


Like he could _sense_ them.

  
  


What was _happening_ to him?

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans?”

  
  


“Hmm?” He hummed after a while of silent petting, mulling his thoughts over.

  
  


“Thank you.”

  
  


“Fuhgeddaboudit,” he shook his head a little, dipping his head into their shoulder and hugging them. “Not gonna let some Caesar salad reject hurt you.”

  
  


Frisk snorted a little, but shook their head as well.

  
  


“That too. I-I meant...” they shifted, color rising in their cheeks again. “T-thank you. For... f-for. Um.”

  
  


… _Shit._

  
  


 

  
  


“I don't know if I-I can heal you anymore, babybones,” Sans said quietly, forcing himself to look away. Anywhere else. At anything aside from those eyes. It would only hurt more. “I-I'm not... I c-can't...”

  
  


“It feels... it feels _good_ , Sans,” Frisk's soft voice gave him pause. “Y-you m-make me feel so, so good.”

  
  


“No, Frisk, listen-”

  
  


“Please,” they begged, clinging to him a little tighter, sounding as if they might cry again. “Please, don't-don't take it away. I-I'll d-d-do anything, a-anytime you w-want it, just, _please_...!”

  
  


It wasn't a simple matter, fighting against himself. When was it, exactly, that he had become his own worst enemy? It was so hard to fight this when he wasn't entirely certain that he wanted to. But he was tempted. God help him, he was tempted. He shouldn't be like excited like this. It was wrong, made him recoil on every level imaginable. It was so selfish, so manipulative, so cruel what they were doing to him. Papyrus never would have had a problem like this. Papyrus was actually good. It was like staring down the fiery gates of Hell itself and knowing that it was inevitable that he would eventually cross the barrier. And what made it worse was knowing that he would do it, too. He would damn himself of his own volition.

  
  


Sans had never hated himself quite so much in his entire life.

  
  


 

  
  


He wasn't just trembling, he was outright shaking. Squeezing them too hard. He had to force his grip to relax to keep his bones from rattling, to keep from hurting them again. He didn't want to hurt them. Not that. Anything but that. He just wanted them to be safe. He just wanted them to be happy. They were so good. They were like Papyrus. They had a good soul. Didn't they need him? He didn't even want them.

  
  


He just... needed them.

  
  


He could fit the puzzle pieces together.

  
  


He could protect them.

  
  


He could get answers.

  
  


God he was such an evil, _vile_ fucking creature for even considering it.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I love you, Sans.”

  
  


 

  
  


And with that, he felt his resolve finally crumble as the despair consumed him.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter titles:  
> Papyrus, Side B  
> Red Light, Green Light  
> Flowey Used Vine Whip!  
> Sans Might Have Some Issues (A Lot Of Issues, Actually)


	10. Circling The Drain

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans quietly mused to himself that things were most certainly not taking the direction that he had anticipated. It bounced in his head over and over again, echoed behind his eyes, pounded in his sweating bones.

  
  


 

  
  


_I love you, Sans._

  
  


 

Dirty little liar. They were, they had to be lying. And thinking that way _ached_.

How was he _supposed_ to react? How was he supposed to _respond_ to that? How could they just keep accepting him, keep forgiving him for the horrible things he'd said to them, he'd done to them? It felt like no matter what he did, there was just no winning. Even when he won, he lost. No matter what he did, he just couldn't seem to win. It wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_ , what they were doing to him. And god did he despise them for it.

  
  


But he was just too tired to fight it anymore.

  
  


“... S-Sans...?”

  
  


 

  
  


They looked like they were about to cry again, trembling slightly. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? They were in pain. He'd already hurt them, and no matter how much he wanted to hold his tongue, he could only imagine what his silence would do to them. Maybe they deserved it. At least, he desperately tried to convince himself of that. It would make it easier to deal with. They made him so confused. They made him so, so angry.

  
  


They made him so _afraid_.

  
  


He slowly, cautiously pulled their head against his chest, cradling them as close as he could.

  
  


“... I love you too, babybones,” Sans whispered after a moment. They relaxed visibly, letting out a quiet shuddering breath. He did. He knew it, he loved them, and it was killing him.

  
  


It hurt, it physically _hurt_.

  
  


Why? Why were they _doing_ this? Were they doing this to him on purpose? Didn't they know how much it hurt?

  
  


Didn't they care?

  
  


Even a little?

  
  


 

  
  


It would be so much easier if he could just _hate_ them as much as he wanted to.

  
  


Love to monsters meant a lot. They were physically composed of it, after all. To think that this thing, this anomaly, this... _human_ felt anything at all was somehow upsetting to him, but love? There were so many things wrong with this. There were so many thoughts running rampant through his mind. So many questions. He decided against asking any of them, instead sighing, closing his eye sockets and leaning back against the couch. Maybe though... maybe he could use this to his advantage. He felt sick and foul and manipulative just for thinking it, but if the little human – if _Frisk_ decided to turn on them he needed backup plans. He didn't actually have to _care,_ he didn't _want_ to care. They couldn't make him. Not now, not ever. He felt Frisk situating themselves to stay on his lap, their arms still locked around his neck. They buried their face into his shoulder, mumbling something, but he couldn't quite make it out. Someone that, for once... needed him. _Him._ He didn't care, he thought, sinking into himself. He wouldn't. So long as he could just rest for a moment. So long as they could just... stay like this, for a while. No fighting, no running, no resets. A momentarily bit of solace amongst the storm. So long as he could just hold them for a while and let them know that they were loved. They were the only one who understood what he went through. Maybe he was the only one that could understand them.

  
  


He wondered if they needed him as badly as he needed them.

  
  


… _What the actual fuck am I doing with my life._

  
  


 

  
  


But the niggling thought remained.

  
  


How did he _find_ them?

  
  


 

  
  


He had a few guesses, and absolutely none of them were ones that he wanted to acknowledge. A part of him wanted to attribute it to sheer blind luck, but Sans never was a believer in coincidences. Maybe trying to use green magic was starting to affect him in more ways than he realized and it was somehow causing him to develop supersensory abilities, but he sincerely doubted it. It was a theory though. He couldn't sense things around him. That would have been _incredibly_ useful though. He'd practically never have to bother keeping his eye sockets open then. His mind was just so muddled. It was difficult to focus.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans awoke with a little start a while later, unsure of the time. He silently kicked himself for never bothering to get a clock and vowed to get one as soon as possible. He then kicked himself again for letting someone with a possible concussion fall asleep.

  
  


“... Hey,” he nervously but gently shook Frisk awake. They murmured incoherently, their eyes squeezed shut as he tapped them atop the head a few times, his worry growing. “C'mon, kiddo. Hate to say it, but, uh, now's not exactly the best time for a nap. You know?”

  
  


“How come?” Frisk asked sleepily, rubbing their eyes. Or at least, trying to, before flinching and letting out a little hiss when they touched the bruise. Sans cringed, instinctively holding out a hand to cover their eye. They blinked and looked directly at him, breath slowing.

  
  


Brown eyes.

  
  


 

  
  


He silently made it a point to investigate further when he had the strength.

  
  


“... We'll get some good food in ya,” he rubbed the top of their head after a moment. “Bruise'll be gone before you know it, buddy. But before that, I, uh, kinda think we need to clean up a bit.”

  
  


Frisk looked at him questioningly for a moment before their mouth formed an _o_ , and they nodded.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Y'know. 'Cause I'm pretty sure Paps is gonna _freak_ if he sees blood all over the place,” he added for emphasis. Frisk nodded again, looking down sadly at their stained jacket. “Don't worry, kiddo. We'll get it good as new. Probably gonna have to wash all that 'ketchup' too, your clothes should be good to go upstairs. Why don't you go get washed up, buddy?”

  
  


Frisk looked at him uncertainly for a moment, fidgeting and glancing toward the bathroom before meeting his eyes, biting their bottom lip.

  
  


“Can... can you... give me a bath...?”

  
  


 

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Ye-_

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say. NO._

  
  


_God fucking dammit please I am literally begging just say no don't break now everything was going to be okay oh god please don't do this pretend there's no tightness in your shorts just for fuck's sake do the right thing do the right thing please for once in your miserable life why are you so weak you sick fuck do the right thing evil little shit is doing this to me on purpose ought to snap their goddamned neck and save myself the trouble no no no no no NO-_

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans?” Frisk asked worriedly, looking alarmed. He felt the pinpricks in his eye sockets return. They looked so frightened. They were afraid of him.

  
  


Maybe that was a good thing.

  
  


It meant they were smart.

  
  


So why did it make him feel so _awful_?

  
  


 

  
  


“... C'mon, buddy,” he trying to force a little grin. He was failing. All he had to do was try, why was it so goddamn _hard._ “I-I, uh. M-maybe that's not such a good... idea-”

  
  


“Please?” they pouted, sticking out their bottom lip and batting their lashes. He felt his soul melt a little, and god he _hated_ how easy it was to break him.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans closed his eyes, letting out an unsteady breath before slowly standing and carrying them to the bathroom. He was absolutely pathetic. All that boisterous self proclomation and all it took to crush him down was a puppy dog look? It would be fine. Everything would be _fine_. His head felt heavy. It was fine. Like giving Papyrus a bath as a little skeleton. The only difference was that this time there was hair and meaty bits to deal with. Yeah. He just had to keep his thoughts in check. So long as he didn't keep indulging in his paranoia and checking their eyes to see if the red irises were back.

  
  


But was it really paranoia if he was right?

  
  


_I'm not always me when I come back, either._

  
  


 

  
  


Sometimes, it was like Frisk wasn't really Frisk at all. And the more that he thought about it as he tried to calmly run hot (somewhat excessively) soapy bath water for them, the more that it seemed to make sense. That dream, that vision felt too vivid, too _real_. There was no way it was a hallucination, it couldn't have been. But if it wasn't real and he kept telling himself it was, he'd just be going crazier... It was like he'd peeked inside of them and saw something that he was never intended to. That other child. The one with the red eyes.

  
  


He had to fight to keep his breathing steady as he tested the water every few minutes, making sure it wasn't scalding. Why was it, exactly; what was it about seeing those red eyes that made him so marrow boilingly _furious_? It sparked something so violent, so _angry_ inside him, and he hated it. He shouldn't be like this. It didn't matter what color their eyes were, he was supposed to protect them.

  
  


The child in the green shirt.

  
  


The child with the red eyes.

  
  


The one who had looked at him with so much fear, so much fury. So much hate.

  
  


_I'm not always me when I come back, either._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sat on the edge of the tub and carefully shampooed their head in silence, the scent of strawberries filling the air as he tried not to think of the blood mingling in the soapy water. So long as he stayed focused on the task then everything would be fine. They stayed turned away from him, and he had to kick down the itch to get them to turn so that he could check to ensure that their irises hadn't changed. So long as he didn't look at the marks, everything would be fine.

  
  


And yet, he found his eye sockets wandering regardless.

  
  


 

  
  


_**SLUT.** _

  
  


 

  
  


He had to fight to keep his hands from shaking as he held his fingertips over their branding. There was that anger again, but it felt fundamentally different from when those red eyes met his. It was like it had only been slumbering under the surface and now it was furious, it was fiery, it was righteously offended and outright _fucking pissed._

  
  


Frisk froze at his touch, their breath halting as the water splashed a little.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I don't know if I'm ever gonna be able to heal this, buddy,” Sans said after a moment, looking away with his cheeks stinging a little as he tried to rinse the shampoo from their head. “Christ. I'm-I'm... so sorry, babybones.”

  
  


“You don't have to be sorry,” Frisk said quietly and held their arms close to themselves without looking at him. “I deserved it.”

  
  


Sans _spluttered_ , dropping the shampoo bottle into the water in shock.

  
  


 

  
  


“I – I don't – kid, what the _fuck_?” he gripped their shoulders angrily, causing them to flinch. “No – _no!_ Kiddo; babybones,” Sans released his grip a little, trying to still their trembling. “You-you can't _say_ things like that, I-I mean... _Christ_. Kid, nobody 'deserves' that. _Nobody_. Sure as HELL not you. You _got_ that?”

  
  


Frisk didn't respond.

  
  


“... You're a _good kid,_ Frisk.”

  
  


Their shoulders began quivering again and their head bowed, and Sans felt like his soul was being punched. He couldn't even keep his hands from shaking on their shoulders, he just wanted to hold them and tell them that everything was going to be okay. He didn't care how stupid or unlikely Undyne's plan sounded, he was going to hunt down the soulless bastards that did this and _rip their throats out with his goddamn teeth._

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk's voice came out in a squeak as they held their face in their hands, sensing his fury. “I'm s-sorry Sans.”

  
  


“... Hey. Hey,” he gently held them around the head, pulling them closer, not caring anymore how much water and soap got on him. “Shh. It's okay. You're gonna be _okay_. Alright? C'mon. Please don't cry anymore. Shh. You don't have anything to be sorry for.”

  
  


“B-b-but it's m-my fault-”

  
  


“Don't,” he growled deeply, causing them to shiver despite the warmth. “I don't care what anyone told you. They're _wrong_.”

  
  


“I-I just...” Frisk mumbled, hiding their heated face in his arm. “... I just wanna be good, too.”

  
  


“Hey. Buddy. C'mon,” he tilted them weakly by the chin, forcing them to look at him. “You are good, Frisk. You're a good person. And I'm gonna keep on telling you that until you believe me.”

  
  


Frisk crumbled and let out a choked little cry, burying their face against him.

  
  


 

  
  


They were so distraught that they couldn't even bring themselves to speak coherently. Sans couldn't really bring himself to find words, either. He certainly didn't have any pleasant ones to share, his quietly bubbling rage at the thought of someone hurting them burning his bones. He only shushed them and softly stroked their head, rocking them a little back and forth until they finally stopped crying.

  
  


Sure, they pissed him off. But they hadn't done anything wrong this timeline. Frisk didn't deserve to be hurt. Not like this. Nobody did. Especially not some kid.

  
  


They were such a good kid. He refused to admit it, but he saw a lot of his brother in them, sometimes. They had made mistakes, granted. He couldn't think of anyone that hadn't. Sans had made some regrettable mistakes in previous timelines that _still_ haunted his nightmares. He couldn't bring himself to look that poor woman in the eye since... that. But Frisk... He was never, ever going to quite be able to bring himself to forgive them fully for the things that they had done, but even still... they were good. They were a good person. Not like him. Even though they were scared and hurt, they still trusted, they still loved. It wasn't fair that they were so much braver than he was. He couldn't wrap his mind around how anyone could possibly be so trusting as to practically lay their soul bare for-

  
  


 

  
  


Sans's marrow froze.

  
  


Their soul.

  
  


_Their soul._

  
  


_That_ was how he had done it.

  
  


He hadn't just located them.

  
  


He had sensed their _soul_.

  
  


The only feasible way that he could have possibly done that...

  
  


 

  
  


What _was_ he, anymore?

  
  


He had gone far, _far_ beyond the point of just hurting them anymore. If his theory was right, then this was worse. Definitely much, _much_ worse. But it was only a theory. It couldn't possibly be correct. He wasn't twisted on the inside. There was nothing wrong with _him_. Everything was fine. The rising horror and _disgust_ with himself was just a reaction to the thought. It was too far fetched. Humans couldn't even access their _own_ souls. Monsters' and humans' souls simply couldn't be connected like that. It just wasn't possible.

  
  


_God_ how he prayed it was impossible.

  
  


… _I'm a fucking abomination._

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans?”

  
  


“What's up, kiddo?” Sans asked, his throat feeling very dry.

  
  


“Water's r-really cold...” Frisk mumbled again. They started to rise, but he gently pressed on their shoulder until they sat back down. “Sans?”

  
  


“Buddy,” he cleared his throat after a moment, his face feeling heated. How was he supposed to breach a subject like this? Would they even know what he was talking about? Frisk was just a kid, albeit human, still a kid, and if he lingered on that thought any longer he was going to be sick. They wouldn't even understand. And even if they did, well.

  
  


At least they would finally _hate_ him. It would simplify matters considerably.

  
  


That was what he wanted.

  
  


_... Right_?

  
  


 

  
  


“... We need to talk.”

  
  


“A-about what...?” Frisk shifted uncomfortably, looking nervous. Their eyes were wide as they stared up at him. Openly. With love. With trust. It made him melt.

  
  


_They'll never look at me like that again._

  
  


_They might not look at anyone like that again._

  
  


… _Frisk will never love me again._

  
  


 

  
  


“... You wanna go grab some grub?” he asked suddenly, draining the water and making sure they were covered with a towel. For some reason they seemed to have grown attached to Papyrus's favorite fluffy red towel. He watched the water drain slowly, his mind foggy. Maybe that's all his life was, a mess of blood and filth as he slowly circled the drain. It certainly felt that way. “I mean, don't get me wrong, leftover spaghetti again would make me... upsetti. I'm already full of spaghetti.”

  
  


“So...” Frisk said after a moment, poking their head out from the towel with a little grin. “You regretti the spaghetti?”

  
  


Sans blinked before he laughed in surprise and pulled them into a hug, ruffling their damp hair.

  
  


God. How had he ever hated them?

  
  


Actually, he knew exactly how, but if he didn't think about it, then it wouldn't be a problem. That was the solution to every problem like that. Just don't think about it.

  
  


 

  
  


“Come on, kiddo. I think it's high time to introduce you to Grillby's.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	11. Introductions Are In Order

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Grillby's had a certain scent to the place that Sans never could quite get enough of.

  
  


 

  
  


He could smell the place even before he entered, but the strong whiff that hit him when they opened the door always felt like a second home. The slightly crispy scent of wood smoke and cooking food, the warmth that seeped into his bones the moment he stepped inside filled him with a soothing sensation that he never could fully place. It was something that he found that he could never quite get enough of, no matter how many times he came back to Grillby's, he always felt that delightful sensation.

  
  


He held Frisk's hand and glanced down to them with a hopeful grin. Maybe they could understand. They looked worried as he felt, and were holding their stomach with one hand, looking a little flushed.

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk's eyes were wide as they took in the place, looking about curiously at the slowly spinning ceiling fan with thin trails of smoke swirling around it, at the monsters lining the booths along the wall and stools, at Snowdin's royal guards chatting amicably amongst themselves at a circular table where they played cards. Frisk's eyes lingered on them nervously for a while before they glanced back up at him, but he only smiled and nodded. He wanted them to know that they were safe.

  
  


Granted, he couldn't necessarily ensure that they had their disguise, what with it being soaked to get the blood out, and yet... nobody seemed to notice. Even Doggo paused when they entered the building, looking up from his slowly waving hand full of cards and a smoking dog biscuit in his mouth. He said nothing at all to Sans, his eyes narrowed for a long moment. However, after a bit he reclined visibly with a barking laugh before turning back to his game with the other dogs, and his grip on Frisk's hand relaxed a little.

  
  


 

“Welcome ta Grillby's, kiddo,” Sans said quietly. “Time for introductions.”

“Heya, Sans!” Dogamy perked up the moment he spotted him, his thick brow rising in surprise. “Good to see you!”

  
  


“Hi, Sans,” Dogaressa yawned quietly, holding up a paw to him. “Good to see you in better health.”

  
  


“I get knocked down, but I get up again,” Sans shrugged with a little grin. “Ain't nothin' gonna keep me down.”

  
  


Greater Dog gave a floor shaking rumble from his spot opposite them, tongue lolling happily from his mouth.

  
  


“You said it, big guy,” Doggo barked another laugh, blowing out smoke. Sans let out a silent sigh of relief. Did nobody but Doggo recognize Frisk for what they were? What exactly had he been so worried about?

  
  


 

  
  


“Hi there Sans,” an odd horse looking monster in a leather jacket slid a comb through his hair as he passed them, heading for the door. “Good to have ya back.”

  
  


“ _Heya, Sansy~_ ” he heard the slur from his right, and he had to bite back a groan. The bunny monster with her head slumped on the table had heavily flushed cheeks, and it looked like her eyes were spinning. But he couldn't say much. That would have been rude. Besides, the last time he'd been less than considerate toward her had been... highly unpleasant. Thank god she would never remember it. There were a lot of things that he was glad she wouldn't remember.

  
  


“Hey doll,” Sans waved to her as they passed, trying to get to the bar without looking right at her. He couldn't, he just couldn't do it. Not this timeline, it was still too soon.

  
  


“Who's your new friend, Sansy?” she called drunkenly after him. “Totally like flies t'honey, huh?”

  
  


“What can I say,” he shrugged, trying (and failing) to fight off the deadpan. “I'm like a lightning rod for fun.”

  
  


_A lightning rod for crazy, actually._

  
  


 

  
  


“Hey, Sans...” a duck looking monster with a large bill looked at him in confusion as he plopped into one of the barstools, patting the one beside him for Frisk to hop up on. They sat on top of a small whoopie cushion and pulled it out from underneath them, slowly turning and giving him a blank stare, which he only shrugged at with a smirk. “Where have you been? You never miss out on a visit at Grillby's.”

  
  


“Just one visit?” he said loudly. “Buddy, I never miss out on _any_ meals,” he patted his stomach. There was a chorus of chuckles behind him from the dog's table, and he relaxed a little. Everything was going to be fine. Grillby was busy with another patron at the end of the bar, but it didn't matter.

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk was staring off into the corner where the monster with the slicked back hair had been; or more accurately, staring intently at the old wooden and glass jukebox. It was worn, and beaten, but polished with a pleasant sheen.

  
  


“So you like music, huh? What? Never seen a jukebox before, kiddo?” Sans asked, sticking his hands in his pockets. He withdrew a hand and held it out to them, dropping a few golden coins into their palms and nodding toward it. “Why don't you go give it a whirl, buddy?”

  
  


Frisk's face lit up brightly as they hopped from the stool that they had struggled so hard to climb atop, scampering excitedly over to the jukebox and bouncing on the balls of their feet with a huge grin as they pressed their face to the glass to see better.

  
  


 

  
  


He heard the crackly chortle of the bartender, and almost jumped. For someone that was literally made of fire, Grillby could easily sneak up on someone. Or was Sans just paying that little attention?

  
  


“Heya, Grillbz,” Sans said tiredly, sticking his hands back in his pockets. “I'm gonna need somethin' strong.”

  
  


“Is that really such a wise idea, my friend?” Grillby blinked behind his spectacles, which was a strange sight. “I had heard from your brother that you and the little one were not well. I cannot deny I began to grow worried.”

  
  


Sans felt like he had been punched in the stomach. How was he supposed to say it?

  
  


_What_ was he supposed to say?

  
  


That there was a depraved sickness inside of him that was infecting his mind?

  
  


That he was a vile creature that could never truly wash the blood from his hands?

  
  


That his life was slowly crumbling around him no matter how desperately he tried to fight to make things better?

  
  


 

  
  


Sans realized that he had been sitting stock still for a little too long and forced himself to appear to relax, giving a small practiced grin.

  
  


“No worries, Grillbz,” Sans waved him off with faux cheerfulness. “My fault for not bein' cautious enough. Everything is fine now. Everything is _fine_ ,” he said with a bit too much conviction. Grillby looked at him quietly, not moving. Sans started to sweat. There was that feeling again that only Grillby could make him feel, like he was being looked through. Like he could see the sins staining his soul.

  
  


Like he _knew_.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans desperately tried to pretend that he wasn't sweating as profusely as he was.

  
  


After a moment however Grillby nodded silently and returned with a couple of shots of slightly fizzing red liquid, which Sans wasted no time at all in downing with a thankful nod. He felt the burn almost immediately and let out a grateful sigh, closing his eyes. The insides of his bones were warm, and Grillby's already small establishment felt just a bit cozier for a little while. His mind felt thankfully fuzzy. At least he wouldn't have to drag his mind out of the dark places for a while. He couldn't go getting full on drunk, and had to forcibly remind himself of this a couple of times. He had things to do. He had to take care of Frisk.

  
  


_Speak of the devil..._

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans?”

“What's up, buddy?” Sans blinked his eye sockets open, turning on his stool to give them his full attention.

  
  


“I-I put in the money, but...” they fidgeted awkwardly, hiding their hands in their sleeves and looking away. “I... I didn't b-break it, did I...?”

  
  


Sans let out a single _heh_ and patted them on the head, slipping from his stool. “Nah, don't worry, kid. That thing's just old and rusty and doesn't really work.”

  
  


“Like you?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans wasn't quite sure that he had ever heard Grillby _laugh_ before.

  
  


“Got a _lip_ on ya today, huh, kid?” Sans couldn't keep the smile off his slightly heated face.

  
  


“I have lips every day,” Frisk blinked up at him in confusion. “You're the one who doesn't have lips.”

  
  


Were... were they _messing_ with him? At least Grillby would back him up-

  
  


And Grillby was snickering behind his back. _Goddammit._

  
  


 

  
  


“Alright, alright,” he nudged them toward the jukebox with his elbow. Why was he getting irritated? “C'mon, kid. I'll show ya how to fix it.”

  
  


Frisk lit up promptly, shifting from foot to foot with an eager expression.

  
  


Sans stood directly in front of the jukebox for a moment, unmoving. Then he casually reached out and gave it a couple of raps with his knuckles before elbowing it hard a few times, like he was tapping out a tune. Frisk's eyes widened considerably when gentle speakeasy music began emanating from the speakers.

  
  


 

  
  


“Whoa...” they stared at him. “How did you do that?”

  
  


He waved his hands in front of him with widened eyes and a dopey smile.

  
  


“Mmmmmm _maaaaaaagic_ ,” he said with a smirk. Frisk seemed highly unsatisfied with his answer. He only found it slightly funnier that way. He couldn't keep a smile off his face as they tried to wiggle along to the music, shaking their arms a little and sliding left and right along to the tune. He rolled his head back in the direction of the bar after a minute, where Grillby was leaning with a quiet smile.

  
  


 

  
  


“There's not exactly a lot on the menu,” Sans shrugged as they reclaimed their seats. “Unless you like burgers and fries.”

  
  


Frisk looked back and forth between Grillby and Sans. The skeleton shrugged again.

  
  


 

  
  


“Burgers it is,” and Grillby nodded before taking off at a brisk pace. “You're gonna love it, kid. Grillby's got the best stuff around.”

  
  


Frisk brushed the hair from their eyes, and he froze instinctively. Their eyes were brown. It was fine. Everything was fine.

  
  


“Sans?”

  
  


“What's up, buddy?” he pulled a ketchup bottle from across the counter and flicked off the top expertly before taking a long swig. He held his hand on the table, tracing the wood grain with his fingertip.

  
  


“Um... what did you want to t-talk to me about?”

  
  


Sans swiftly felt as if the couple of shots that he'd had before weren't nearly enough. He had almost managed to forget about that. He really wished it could have stayed that way.

  
  


 

  
  


Grillby still wasn't back yet, and Sans wished that the elemental would hurry to distract him so that he could stop this conversation and never, ever bring it up again.

  
  


“... Look,” Sans's shoulders sank a little, his face saddening. He swallowed hard, the guilt pulling at his chest. God this was difficult. “There's-there's, uh. Something I've... something I think I need to tell ya. I'm-I'm just... not sure how.”

  
  


“It's okay,” Frisk said kindly, placing their soft hand over his with a little smile. “I trust you.”

  
  


 

  
  


It hurt.

  
  


It ached, it burned, it _fucking hurt._

  
  


He really was a miserable creature. They looked at him with that hopeful smile, tilting their head a little with their hair in their eyes. With so much belief in their eyes. With so much love that he didn't deserve.

  
  


They needed to know so that he could find a way to stop this. To stop him. To know that they had to stay away.

  
  


And just the thought of forcing them away hurt even more.

  
  


_What the actual fuck am I doing with my life._

  
  


 

  
  


“... Heh. This is Grillby, by the way. Looks like the grub's up,” Sans's smile stayed on his face, but it felt so plastic. Frisk looked almost worried as they poked around the plate that Grillby set for them before he resumed tending to other patrons. “ _Bone_ appetit, buddy.”

  
  


Sans thoroughly enjoyed Grillby's cooking, and this was no exception. The burger was thick and juicy, not too well done with a slight hint of charcoal among the tender meat. Frisk watched him eat for a few moments, like they were uncertain.

  
  


 

  
  


“It's alright, kid,” Sans said after a bit of them poking uneasily at their plate without actually eating. “It's probably not gonna bite back.”

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk rubbed their arms, trying to hide their hands in their sleeves. “I... I can't.”

  
  


“Aw, come on, kiddo...” he gave a little sigh. “Who knows? Maybe you'd like it if you tried it.”

  
  


Frisk shifted again, staring down at their plate. They had to be hungry by now. They were so small, so thin. It was like they weren't used to eating, and the thought made his soul ache.

  
  


“... Just a _bite_?” he prodded.

  
  


Frisk looked around nervously, their cheeks flushed. They opened and closed their mouth a few times before tightly locking their lips, looking away. What was wrong with them? Were they really disliking Grillby's that much? They seemed so happy when they were dancing and shaking along to the music. Were they not used to public places like this? That might have explained the redness in their cheeks. Maybe they were just nervous about being to a new place. Something wasn't adding up and it bothered him more than he admitted. Something that tingled in a familiar manner in the back of his mind.

  
  


Sans sighed internally and waved to Grillby.

  
  


 

  
  


“Don't worry, kiddo,” Sans patted them on the head, and they flinched. “Hey, Grillbz. I think we're gonna get ours to go. Put it on my tab?”

  
  


Grillby crossed his arms and narrowed his fiery brows, but put away their food in a brown paper bag for them regardless. How Grillby managed to even hold it without setting it on fire was a mystery to Sans. He chalked it up to magic. Sans quietly asked Grillby for something after Frisk had climbed down from the barstool, and Sans gladly traded off the remaining golden coins in his pocket for a second bag, this one with a couple of large glass bottles.

  
  


 

  
  


They didn't take a shortcut immediately. He simply stood outside of Grillby's, taking a deep breath and letting the snowflakes fall and build on him. He held Frisk's hand the entire time, staring off at the ceiling for a while. He could still see some of the more luminescent crystals in the ceiling poking through the clouds. If Frisk minded at all they didn't say a word, only holding his hand back and slowly looking up at the cloudy ceiling where the snow fell in puffy bits.

  
  


“... Sans?”

  
  


“What's up, buddy?” Sans asked quietly, not looking away.

  
  


“Why are you sad?”

  
  


Sans blinked, glancing down at them. He gave their hand a little squeeze as he smiled.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm okay, kid. I'm always okay. Just thinking.”

  
  


Frisk was silent for a moment.

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans?”

  
  


“Yeah, kid.”

  
  


“... Have you ever seen the sky?”

  
  


“I've seen pictures,” he shrugged. “There are illustrations in textbooks. Some of the surviving ones that monsters have managed to salvage from the garbage dump, anyway.”

  
  


Frisk looked at him with something that might have been... sadness? Hope? Pity? God he hoped it wasn't pity. He didn't want them to pity him. It made him feel dirty, useless.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans.”

  
  


“Yeah, kid.”

  
  


“Someday,” Frisk took a deep breath, puffing out their chest. “Someday, I'm-I'm gonna give it to you.”

  
  


“... Give what?”

  
  


“The sky,” they said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You, and Papyrus, and Undyne, and Mo- everyone,” Frisk's voice grew quieter as they gently squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, running his thumb slowly over their knuckles. “Someday, I'm gonna give you stars. _Real_ stars. All of the surface, and the sun, and the moon, and all the stars in the night sky. I want everybody to see them.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt his breath catch in his aching chest. They really were such a sweet kid. They looked at him with that little smile, so hopeful, so happy, so full of love. Sans let out a shaky sigh and lowered himself a little until he was head height with them. Hadn't he hated them not so long ago?

  
  


“... Hey. Kid. I wanna show you something,” he carefully tucked the bags into his jacket before pulling them a little closer. “Hang on _real_ tight, and whatever you do, do _not_ let go. Okay?”

“Okay? Um... can-can I ask why?”

“You'll find out in a second. Also try not to open your eyes or think about what's happening,” he promptly regretted his phrasing and swallowed hard. “Uh. It helps with motion sickness is what I mean. Just take my hand and trust me. Alright, kiddo?”

  
  


Frisk nodded obligingly, and Sans felt the pull of magic as the void whipped and whirled around them. Sans didn't even have to open his own eye sockets to see, he _knew_ what he would see if he did, and greatly preferred not to dwell on it long. He stepped carefully from the shortcut into the dark, and Frisk took in a sharp breath as they released him.

  
  


 

  
  


The stones in the ceiling sparkled brilliantly. It was one of the relatively drier spots in Waterfall, but it still wasn't exactly dry by any means as droplets of water fell from the ceiling regularly in small sprinkles. Sans sat quietly on the ground cross legged and craned his neck, keeping Frisk in sight as they gaped open mouthed upward.

  
  


“We might not have stars down here,” Sans said quietly. “But we've got these. Everybody just calls it the wishing room, since we don't have stars to wish on, we just use these glowing rocks up here. And, hey, who knows. If you wish hard enough, your wish might even come true.”

  
  


Frisk slowly, carefully sat down beside him, reaching out to hold his hand again before leaning against him quietly.

  
  


“That's... that's so _sad_ ,” Frisk said unhappily after a while.

  
  


“Sad?” he blinked. “Nah, not even close. Just proof that monsters can stay hopeful even in the face of adversity. I think it's kinda admirable.”

  
  


“... Do you ever make wishes here?” they asked.

  
  


“Nah. Too lazy for that kind of thing,” he winked.

  
  


Frisk seemed displeased at his answer, but didn't say anything else. They only squeezed his hand a little tighter, giving him an odd look before turning their head back to the ceiling. They sat like that for a long while, neither of them speaking. That was fine with Sans. He gradually began to slip into unconsciousness every now and then. Maybe they could just stay like this for a while. Sans really wouldn't mind. He wasn't necessarily comfortable, sitting on the cold slightly wet hard stone, but he could relax just about anywhere regardless. Frisk skipped a few rocks silently over a puddle, tossing them out with their left hand.

  
  


There was that feeling again.

_And it finally clicks._

  
  


 

  
  


“... Hey, kid.”

  
  


“What is it, Sans?” they replied without looking at him, tossing another rock.

  
  


“When are you comin' back?”

  
  


They stiffened.

  
  


“... Whatever do you mean?” they said quietly, turning a little to face him. Their red eyes locked onto his empty ones, and they froze.

  
  


“That's a pretty neat trick you can do with your eyes...” he said with a slowly growing grin.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _ **W a n n a s e e m i n e?”**_

  
  


 

  
  


Sans's left eye _flared_ blue with magic, causing them to nearly trip over themselves in panic to get away. The child screamed as they were _hurled_ roughly through the air, and the wind was knocked from their lungs as they hit the dripping stone wall. He could see their soul doused in blue through their shirt, giving off a slightly sickly light. Their eyes were wide as they scrabbled at their throat viciously, red fingernail marks leaving streaks, little chest heaving for air as gravity slowly increased, pinning them in place.

  
  


“I'm always a fan of fun,” Sans said slowly as he stood, dusting off his shorts. “But I think this is kinda messed up as far as practical jokes go. So I'm only gonna ask you once. _Where's the kid.”_

  
  


It wasn't even a question as much as it was a statement, a promise of pain to come.

  
  


 

  
  


The human choked and pulled at invisible cords around their neck, eyes rolling wildly in their head. Sans let out an irritated sigh and held out his hand and loosening his fingers, releasing his grip a little. They sucked in greedy gulps full of air, tears streaming down their face.

  
  


“Don't have all day, buddy,” Sans tapped an invisible watch on his wrist, trying his best to remain calm. “So let's get this show on the road, huh? Because to be honest, I'm not exactly in a _patient fuckin' mood_ right now.”

  
  


“ _Fuck_ you,” the child that looked like Frisk screamed at him as soon as they could, still gasping for breath. “Fuck you, fuck _you_ I _hate_ you, I _hate_ you so – fucking – _much_...!”

  
  


“I can live with that,” he stuck his hands in his pockets. “I hate me too, kiddo.”

  
  


“Fuck you,” they swore again, sobbing. “ _F-fuck_ you, fuck y-you...!”

  
  


“Man, I am gonna have to introduce you to the swear jar,” Sans chortled humorlessly. “But, see I'd _really_ like to have Frisk back, and you're getting on my nerves.”

  
  


“I-I _am_ -”

  
  


“ _ **Don't,”**_ he growled bitterly, increasing the gravity on them little by little and causing them to gasp in pain from the pressure. “Don't get me wrong. You _look_ just like the kid. But there are a few things that gave it away. For example, that little lilt in your voice when you talk, sound like you're not even from this era. Plus, Frisk doesn't swear. Like, ever. Also, you happen to be left handed,” he eyed their left arm pointedly. “Frisk is _right_ handed. You aren't. So what do you say we just cut the shit, eh? I'd really like to have my kid back. How about it?”

  
  


“How about you go _fuck yourself-”_

  
  


 

  
  


He threw out his arm, slamming the child into the ground.

  
  


Hard.

Repeatedly.

 

  
  


They groaned and coughed in agony, curling up in a little ball and desperately trying to kick away from him but were unable to move from their spot.

  
  


“Man, what _is it_ with you?” he asked quietly, leaning a little with his hands in his jacket pockets as he stood over them. “Do you _like_ pain or something? 'Cause if that's the case, buddy, I can grant that wish for ya.”

  
  


“I _hate_ you,” they hiccuped with their arms over their head, trying to hide their face. “Go to _hell_ , fucker!”

  
  


Sans let out a quiet sigh through his teeth, gradually bending at the knees until he was squatting in front of them. He silently picked up their tear streaked face by the chin with his forefinger, forcing them to look at him. Those red eyes, so full of anger, leaking tears and rage and hatred.

  
  


And Frisk was in there, somewhere.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _... Let's just get to the point.”_

  
  


They froze, breath catching.

  
  


“I don't wanna die,” they whispered miserably, tears beginning anew. “I don't wanna _die_.”

  
  


“Yeah. Well. That's kinda too bad for you,” Sans said quietly. “Because I promised to take care of _Frisk_. I've got _no_ such obligation toward you. Hopefully you'll be Frisk when you come back.”

  
  


“No, no no _no no_...!” they sobbed again, trying to curl in on themselves. They only shook and cried, vainly trying to hide their entire self behind their arms. Sans couldn't help but cringe.

  
  


God, was he really going to _kill_ them until he got Frisk back?

He wouldn't deny that this little red eyed shit was irritating him. And at least he'd be taking his anger out instead of bottling it up. Silver linings. Christ on a bike, what kind of a monster _was_ he.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sighed a little. He stood up straighter, giving them a minute as they wept.

  
  


“... Look, buddy,” he said with a frown. “If you don't quit with the waterworks I'll be forced to use my special attack.”

  
  


If anything, this only caused them to cry and shake harder, but they silenced themselves immediately. They shook and choked quietly, clinging tightly to themselves. Sans sighed again.

  
  


 

  
  


“Can't say I tried. Alright, here' goes.”

  
  


They flinched, stopping breathing altogether.

  
  


 

  
  


They hardly even registered when Sans's slipper bounced off their head.

  
  


The child tearfully blinked in confusion, looking back and forth between Sans and the slipper.

  
  


“Nyeh. Take that,” he said in a straight deadpan. “I gotta warn you though. I can only do that twice.”

  
  


“... Are you _fucking_ with me?” they sputtered.

  
  


“First of all, watch your damned language,” Sans scowled, sliding his foot back into his slipper. “But, uh. I got to thinkin'. Maybe we got off on the wrong...” he pointed at his slipper again. “Foot.”

  
  


“... I hate you _so much.”_

  
  


“Again, something I can live with. If not I'd surely die,” he winked. They hadn't even noticed when the gravity altering magic had ceased to hold them down, but they didn't run when they sat up. “So. How's about we start this off right with introductions? The name's Sans. Sans the skeleton,” he winked again. “But I don't seem to remember your name, though I'm _pretty goddamn sure we've met.”_

  
  


“There's a lot you seem to forget,” they sniffed hatefully, rubbing their nose with their sleeve.

  
  


“Like, for example?”

  
  


“Like, for example all the dirty, perverted disgusting shit you promised to do to me if I ever came back.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans's marrow ran cold.

  
  


“... I-I said a lot of things,” his voice didn't seem to want to come out properly.

  
  


“Yeah, you sick fuck. Like 'I'll pull out your eyeballs and skull fuck you to death,” they listed off on their fingers, giving him a withering glower. “Or 'I'll chain you to my basement wall where you belong.' Or 'I'll make you choke to death on my cock', or 'I'll assfuck the life out of you', ooh, or my personal favorite, 'How about I-”

  
  


“That's _enough_!” Sans snapped and made them flinch, sweating heavily. “Jesus. Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” he ran a hand over the top of his head. “I... I said a lot of t-things that I regret,” he stuck his hands back in his pockets before they could see how badly he was shaking. “I just... you really don't get just how badly I wanted it to _stop_.”

  
  


“You think you're the _only_ one to suffer?” their red eyes narrowed as they wiped their eyes with their sleeve. “Do you have even the slightest _inkling_ of what you did to _Frisk_?”

  
  


_That_ seemed to strike a nerve.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans had to take a long, hard, deep breath to keep from screaming.

  
  


 

  
  


“You -” he jabbed a finger at them. “Do _not_ get to speak of behalf of Frisk. If they've got something to tell me, they can tell me themselves. _Capiche_? Now, I really, _really_ don't like repeating myself, and it would be a bad idea to make me. I'm trying – honest to god, really fuckin' _trying_ – to be a nice guy, and I can't guarantee that the offer is going to last long, so I'm gonna ask one. More. Time. _Where's Frisk?”_

  
  


“Resting,” they said simply. They still didn't stand, didn't look him in the eyes.

  
  


“Better than no answer,” Sans rolled his overly tense shoulders. “Next question. What's your name?”

  
  


They didn't answer.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans started to remove his hand from his pocket, and they flinched.

  
  


“... C-Chara,” they answered quietly, their cheeks heating a little as if they were ashamed to admit it. “My-my name is Chara.”

  
  


“Whelp,” he stuck out his hand to help them up, which they slapped away and stood on their own. “Can't necessarily say it's been 'nice' to meet'cha, 'Chara'. But I know Frisk hasn't eaten much, so you've gotta be hungry, too. Let's go finish off these burgs, eh?”

  
  


“What do you care?” they crossed their arms sourly. “You're just like everyone else. You just want to get rid of me.”

  
  


“Why would I?” he shrugged halfheartedly. “I got two kids for the price of one.”

  
  


Chara stared at him curiously, lower eyelid slowly rising as their eye ticked.

  
  


“Don't call me a _kid_! What is it with you?” they almost shouted at him. “What the _fuck_ is your prob-”

  
  


 

  
  


Chara suddenly found it more difficult to speak with Sans's fist clenched tightly around their throat. Their eyes bulged a little and their mouth opened and closed but nothing came out, and Sans silently marveled at how effortless it was to combine blue magic and a death hold. Most of his other thoughts were drowned in a sea of violent, angry impulses.

  
  


He forced himself to release his grip, his shoulders shaking with barely concealed rage. It was a good thing he'd picked up the liquor from Grillby, because at the rate they were going now he was most _certainly_ going to need it sooner rather than later. He had to list off the reasons in his head why it was a bad idea to force resets until Frisk came back.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Right,” he said quietly, widening his grin a little. “ _Definitely_ gonna have to introduce you to the swear jar.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	12. I Do It For You

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


_Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm._

  
  


 

  
  


They dropped out of the shortcut almost as soon as they entered it, falling into the kitchen as displaced air popped around them. Chara slapped angrily at his hand and backed away into the kitchen wall, glowering hatefully at him. Their cheeks were red and they seemed to be sweating heavily, but their neck and forehead seemed uncomfortably pale. Sans pointedly ignored them and pulled the bags from his jacket, carelessly dropping them onto the table and almost flopping into one of the mismatched chairs before yanking out one of the bottles of heavy cider. He tore off the top with a flick of his thumb, leaving behind all pretense. He chugged hard at the amber liquid, either not noticing or not caring about the burn in the back of his throat. He slid the bottle top across the table and pocketed it.

  
  


 

  
  


Chara started to speak, but Sans silently held up a finger without taking the bottle away from his mouth, continuing to drink. They looked extremely irritated, but Sans ignored them again in favor of pouring down more of the burning cider. He eventually pulled away from the bottle and _slammed_ it down onto the wooden table, causing Chara to jump. He sucked in greedy breaths of air, his vision blurring.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sit,” he jabbed a thumb at the chair opposite him. When they refused to move, he slowly turned his head toward them, and they saw that his eye sockets were empty. “Buddy. Friend. _Pal_. What did I _say_ about making me _repeat myself.”_

  
  


Chara uttered something extremely foul under their breath, deliberately slowly shuffling over until they were in the seat opposite of him. They sat in complete silence for what felt like hours. Sans stared at the top of the glass bottle, watching the amber liquid slosh back and forth as he tipped the bottle, and the neck felt like the smokestack to a terrible factory. He let go eventually, leaning back and closing his eyes, letting out a long, frustrated sigh.

  
  


 

  
  


He cracked an eye socket open just in time to see Chara reaching for the bottle, and he was swift to grab the neck and yank it away, much to their annoyance.

  
  


“Yeah, no. None for you,” he frowned. “I'm not _totally_ irresponsible, thank you very much.”

  
  


“... So when are you planning on doing it?” Chara asked quietly, not looking him in the eyes. Their arms were crossed and their scowl was plain on their face. They looked significantly different than Frisk when they pouted. Even now the little runt was tainting his child. He had to fight to keep his hands from shaking again.

  
  


“Do what, kid?”

  
  


“Kill me.”

  
  


“Don't tempt me,” he said dryly before cringing internally.

  
  


 

  
  


_Stay calm. Don't get angry – well, actually, that's not going to happen, just don't take out your anger on them. Stay calm. For the love of god just stay calm._

  
  


 

  
  


They fell silent again, looking away. Sans tried hard not to stare at the mark that they were trying to hide, pulling up their shoulders. Angry red marks from his phalanges across their throat, almost unnoticeable if he hadn't been looking for them. The guilt surged upward again and he wanted to take the bottle and smash it over his own head. Or maybe theirs, depending.

  
  


“... So,” Sans leaned forward suddenly with his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “Here's how this is gonna go down. I'm gonna ask some questions, and you're gonna answer them to the best of your ability.”

  
  


“ _Then_ you'll kill me.”

  
  


“Depends on the answer,” he replied darkly before closing his eye sockets and sighing heavily. “Look. I don't know you. I don't _like_ you either, but that's neither here nor there. I'm not going to pass judgment until I've heard your side of the story. So do me a favor and make it a _damned_ interesting story.”

  
  


 

  
  


Chara didn't speak.

  
  


Sans sighed again. He slowly pulled one of the burgers from the bag in its paper wrap and casually began to unfold it. It was still hot, surprisingly. Chara's eyes didn't leave him as he gradually unwrapped it before sliding it across the table in front of them.

  
  


 

  
  


“You should eat something,” Sans said as he leaned back in his chair.

  
  


“Screw you.”

  
  


Sans felt the magic building and roaring inside his head, and he had to fight to hold it back.

  
  


“Let me rephrase that. You're _going_ to eat something.”

  
  


“Then let me rephrase that,” Chara scowled. “I _can't.”_

  
  


“Suit yourself,” Sans took another swig and pulled his own remaining burger from the bag, digging into it. “Paps won't eat Grillby's, but I sure will. Fork it over.”

  
  


They didn't move.

  
  


He only shrugged, finishing off his meal.

  
  


 

  
  


“Honestly I couldn't care less about what you eat or whether or not you eat at all,” Sans began quietly. “But you seem to be piloting my kid right now, and I'm positive that they need fuel. So do us both a favor and chow down already.”

  
  


“I told you,” Chara's frown deepened. “I can't.”

  
  


“A'ight,” he shrugged with a little grin. “I'll 'bite'. Why not?”

  
  


They pointed at their stomach.

  
  


 

  
  


“My stomach hurts.”

“Yeah,” he deadpanned. “Because you haven't eaten anything. Eating food makes stomach aches go away.”

  
  


“You don't _get_ it...” Chara seethed through their teeth. “I can't. It. _Hurts_.”

  
  


“And I'm telling you that _you_ don't get it. It'll stop if you just... just eat... uh.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans blinked.

  
  


“Is it like before?”

  
  


Chara tilted their head a little at him. It was a bizarre motion, one that he had seen Frisk doing before, but this felt wholly different. Like watching a doll tilt lifelessly to the side. It was more than a bit unnerving, but thankfully that was repressed with a few more rounds of booze.

  
  


 

  
  


“Y'know. Like when Frisk was looking kind of – well, a lot like you're lookin' right now.”

  
  


“I don't know how I look right now,” Chara said blankly. “I don't have eyes outside my head.”

  
  


Sans paused before taking another heavy swig. He was already a quarter of a way through it, and he could most certainly feel it. Frisk was a good kid. Chara was a pain in the neck and he wanted nothing more than to forcefully plant his foot _right_ up their ass.

  
  


This kid was going to cause him to go through the whole bottle in one sitting at this rate. His head was feeling numb and fuzzy, the pleasant buzz ringing in his bones. Frankly it was the only thing keeping his bones from rattling by now.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Will you eat if I heal you?”

  
  


“ _Fuck off_ , I don't need-” Chara started before grasping their stomach, their face contorting. Their breathing quickened considerably, and sweat was almost pouring off their forehead. They were trembling at this point, torn between anger and pain.

  
  


“Okay,” he shrugged again simply. “Suit yourself. I'm sure you won't wind up inches from death passed out in the floor again any time soon.”

  
  


Chara shoved their chair away from the table, the legs scraping loudly against the floor. The stomped directly over to his side, their expression completely empty. They pulled up their shirt with one hand to reveal their marred stomach, and glared at him.

  
  


 

  
  


“Just hurry the fuck up and give it to me.”

  
  


“Hey, save the bedroom talk for your date, eh?”

  
  


“Stop _fucking_ with me!” Chara bellowed angrily.

  
  


“Stop swearing and maybe I will,” he replied coyly. Chara opened their mouth to retort before slamming it shut, their cheeks a cherry red as they turned their head away. They opened and closed their mouth several more times without speaking.

  
  


 

  
  


“... _Please_?” they asked through gritted teeth, distressed. From the sound of it just saying the word aloud was causing them physical agony.

  
  


“Please what?” Sans asked with his chin in his hands, grinning at them. It probably wasn't a good idea to antagonize them when they were clearly in pain, but he honestly couldn't help it. They were just too much fun to not irritate.

  
  


“I _hate_ you,” Chara seethed, clutching their stomach with one hand. “So. F-fucking _much.”_ Sans instantly felt the guilt resurface as they began to cry again, shaking hands unable to keep themselves still. Sans sighed internally and turned in his seat before holding his hand over their belly. He would just get it over with and then they could go back to eating and everything would be _fine_. Maybe he could even get Frisk to come back before Papyrus returned home and they could all sit down for a movie and pretend that everything was going to be okay for a while. Sans felt an uncomfortable prickle after a few moments.

  
  


This slowly grew into a gnawing feeling of growing despair and confusion.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Uh oh.”

  
  


“What do you _mean_ , 'uh oh'?” Chara snapped.

  
  


“Uh. Uh. Okay. _Okay_ , don't panic,” Sans felt sweat bead on the back of his head.

  
  


“That's not a reassuring thing to say to someone in _pain_ ,” their eyes widened a little. He missed seeing Frisk's eyes. He missed hearing Frisk's quiet voice. He missed having Frisk around. Did he not appreciate Frisk enough? He preferred having them back, not this... thing. Frisk was nice.

  
  


Chara was just obnoxious.

  
  


 

  
  


Was that why the green magic wasn't coming? Because he felt no love for them?

  
  


_That_ drove a spike of fear into the center of his chest.

  
  


What if he was wrong? What if Chara was just another part of Frisk? Was Chara's presence alone killing them?

  
  


What if he _literally_ couldn't bring himself to care enough to heal them?

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans?” Chara asked after a moment. They didn't look angry. They didn't look spiteful, or bitter. They were crying silently. They just looked... hurt.

  
  


“Okay. Okay, just-just stay _calm_ ,” he wasn't sure who he was talking to, who he was reassuring. “I can _do_ this. Just... just stay still for me. Okay? Just stand real still. I've got this.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans took in a deep breath, feeling dizzy.

  
  


Maybe getting drunk and performing healing magic that he didn't have a full grasp of wasn't the _best_ idea.

  
  


“... Are you sure you can't just ride it out?” Sans asked nervously, drawing his hand away a little.

  
  


“Are you _shitting_ me?” Chara said through their teeth, eyes narrowing to dangerous slits. “Sans, I said _please_ , don't make me beg like a dog!”

  
  


_They really would be better behaved with a leash-_

  
  


 

  
  


Sans shook his head fiercely, pressing his hand against their stomach gently.

  
  


“Alright. Okay. Just... hold on to something.”

  
  


Chara looked around awkwardly and gripped their shirt a little tighter. Sans reached again for the magic, pushing harder this time. He could feel a terrible _pounding_ in his head from the over exertion, his bones feeling heavier as magic coursed down his palm.

  
  


Nothing happened.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans had to fight back a tide of panic, closing his eye sockets tightly.

  
  


It was like healing a hurt Papyrus. Little Papyrus who scraped his knees falling down a small flight of stairs. Papyrus, who had been so overjoyed to see him come to his rescue. Frisk. Frisk needed him too. If Chara was in pain, then there was a good chance that Frisk was, too. Frisk, who looked at him with hope, with forgiveness, with mercy.

  
  


Frisk, who looked at him with love and promised to give him the impossible like it was something that they would gladly do for his sake. He had to do it. He had to do it for them.

  
  


_Do it because you love them._

  
  


_Do it for Frisk._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans heard them let out a shuddering breath as luminescent green light slowly began to trickle from his fingertips. He cracked open an eye socket to see their expression, and it was... unsettling, to say the least. It was like a disturbing amalgam of anger, slipping back and forth between pain and pure, unadulterated pleasure. A sliver of drool was leaking from the corner of their mouth and their eyes were rolling slowly back and forth beneath half lidded eyelids. Sans stopped immediately and it was like his whole being drooped. His shoulders fell and his head slowly began to slip, his eye sockets suddenly becoming far too heavy. There was a painful burning sensation in his chest that he attributed to the alcohol, he couldn't think straight.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans?” they asked quietly, dropping their shirt.

  
  


“Don't... make me... d-do that... again,” Sans said through heavy breaths, putting his shaking hands on the table to keep the room from spinning. It wasn't helping. “Please... kid. I can't... please. I just _can't.”_

  
  


Chara looked at him with something that might have been... worry? He couldn't tell. It couldn't have been. He couldn't even bring himself to feel spiteful toward the little shit for doing this to him. No energy left for anger or focus, too burned out to care anymore. He was so tired. So drained. He felt like his bones were full of lead. It was so much work just to keep his eye sockets open.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Please eat,” he asked quietly. It took so much energy, so much effort just to lift his arm, and he let it drop onto their shoulder. “Please, kiddo. You're killing me here.”

  
  


Chara looked back and forth from him to the food, clenching and unclenching their left hand.

  
  


“... Okay,” they said eventually. “We- I'll eat. I'll eat, Sans.”

  
  


“Thank you.” his hand dropped to his side and hung limply. He tried to clutch his phalanges into a fist and nothing happened for several long, painful seconds, and even then just twitching felt like a gargantuan effort. Sans shakily stood, his legs feeling like a Moldsmal on a cold day. He couldn't quite bring himself to say what he wanted. He wasn't even sure he had the energy in him anymore. He couldn't focus. He couldn't _think_. He blindly grabbed at the bottle on the table, almost dropping it before slowly shuffling past Chara, who was bearing one of the strangest expressions that he had ever seen on anyone.

  
  


 

  
  


He could hear them softly stepping behind him as he made his way to the couch. Why were they following him? Didn't he ask them (very politely, for a change) to eat? Didn't they care?

  
  


That was fine.

  
  


Sans couldn't find it in him to care anymore, either.

  
  


 

  
  


He dropped onto the end of the couch, cradling the glass bottle between his legs. His eye sockets were still closed, but he could feel Frisk (Chara, Frisk, did it matter any more?) climbing onto the sofa beside him. For someone who hated him so much they were awfully close. Weird. He still didn't care.

  
  


They were silent for a while. Sans could feel unconsciousness pulling at the back of his mind. At least he would finally be able to rest. At least-

  
  


 

  
  


_Their hands are between my legs oh god oh god oh god what do I do don't move don't react don't budge an inch don't panic don't react just stay calm stay calm you know what happens when you panic just for the love of god stay calm-_

  
  


The friction he felt between his legs stopped as the glass bottle was slowly pulled away from him. He assumed that they were simply putting it away, which was nice of them. Then he rethought that stupidly optimistic reaction and crankily cracked open an eye to see them chugging heavily from the bottle.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Shit_!” he snatched it from them, causing them to cough and splutter as the liquor spilled onto their lap.

  
  


“Hey, what the _hell_?!” Chara scowled. Sans couldn't bring himself to stand again, so instead he rifled in his pocket for a moment to find the bottle top, screwing it on and sticking the whole bottle into the crack in the cushions at the end of the couch.

  
  


“How much did you just drink?” Sans asked resignedly. Not like he was going to be getting it back out of them without ripping them open. His tongue felt so heavy. From the color of their face and the slightly fuzzy look of their eyes, he wagered that it was far more than they should be allowed.

  
  


Which was none.

  
  


 

  
  


Chara shrugged, crossing their arms and looking away.

  
  


“... God _dammit_ , kid,” Sans pinched the bridge of his nostril bone and closed his eye sockets before letting his hand weakly fall. “I let a _kid_ drink alcohol. Oh, god. Oh, Christ. Oh, _god_. Paps is gonna _kill_ me.”

  
  


“... Papyrus doesn't have to know...” Chara said quietly, and even though his eye sockets were closed he could feel that odd stare on him. Their words rang in his head. He felt slightly sick. Not just from the liquor. Not just because of the way that they said it.

  
  


Because it was true.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Kid, you're gonna wind up giving me a heart attack.”

  
  


“Sans.”

  
  


He grunted in response.

  
  


“... I still feel funny.”

  
  


“That's because kids aren't supposed to drink,” he frowned without opening his eyes. “Have fun with the hangover, by th' way. Hope yer fuckin' head aches.”

  
  


“Sans I'm serious,” Chara shook his shoulder roughly. “I... I still feel weird.”

  
  


“Bad weird?”

  
  


They didn't answer.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I think I need more.”

  
  


“Like hell I'm letting you drink-”

  
  


“Not _that_ ,” Chara shook his shoulder again. “I-I just... I just _need_ it. Okay?”

  
  


“Oh.” he blinked his eye sockets open. “... Oh.”

  
  


“... _Please_?” they stuck out their lip like Frisk did, pouting.

  
  


“Okay,” he caved almost as soon as he tried to fight it, his eye sockets slipping closed again as he let out a long, pained sigh. “Okay, bud. Just gotta rest for a few... few minutes.”

  
  


“Sans, come on-”

  
  


“If you b'have,” he tried to hold up a finger but wound up flopping his hand instead. What was wrong with his head? Even when he was drunk he still usually had a _bit_ more coordination than this. Something was wrong, and he couldn't manage to put his fingerbone on what. “A'ight? Can ya – can you be on your best behavior f'r a bit?”

  
  


They grumbled something incoherent, but it sounded enough like noncommittal agreement. Sans let out another long sigh, unable to hold his eye sockets open any longer.

  
  


 

  
  


It wasn't a good idea to fall asleep next to Chara. He didn't like the feeling of those red eyes on him. Especially not when he was vulnerable. It was a bad idea to start drinking, but they just made him so angry. So _furious_.

  
  


He did not need to take that anger out on anyone else.

  
  


Maybe not Chara.

  
  


Definitely not Frisk.

God he really was the worst kind of creature. He wondered if those thin marks on their neck would be healed by now thanks to the pitiful stream of green magic. Thinking on it only made him feel worse, no matter how hard he tried not to. They were already injured, and afraid, and he'd _hurt_ them.

But it was okay, because they deserved it. They _made_ him do it. If Frisk – if _Chara_ – had just played nice then he wouldn't have had to get rough and make them regret it. He wasn't the bad guy. He was just doing what he had to. And besides, he healed them, so it wasn't like it was any lasting damage. He wasn't that kind of monster. It wasn't like he was a _bad person_ or something.

  
  


... _Right?_

Frisk really didn't deserve to put up with something like him. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. Maybe not even Chara did. Certainly not Frisk.

  
  


He heard rustling.

  
  


 

  
  


“... _Kid_.”

  
  


They froze promptly next to him, having crawled a little closer. They were probably trying to wait until he was fully passed out before sneaking the alcohol again, but he kept it firmly away from them and pushed it a little further into the couch with one hand.

  
  


 

  
  


“Y-yeah.”

  
  


“As soon as I get up, me n' you are gonna have a nice, long chat. Either you or Frisk are gonna give me some answers.”

  
  


“And what if I don't?”

  
  


“You will.”

  
  


“So, what if I-”

  
  


“Then don't do it for me,” he groaned quietly. “I don't _care_ if you do it for me. Do it for Frisk.”

  
  


 

  
  


They fell silent at that.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Why do we have to keep doing this, Dad?”_

  
  


“ _You were specifically instructed not to call me that,” Gaster leveled a stare at the smaller skeleton from across the steel table. “You were given a designated position to refer to me-”_

  
  


“ _Aw, come on. 'Doc' sounds so formal, don'tcha think?” Sans grinned at the bespectacled skeleton. He was stooped slightly over the table, scribbling furiously at a stack of papers encoded in an odd language. “Besides, it gets a funny reaction out of your little lackeys.”_

  
  


“ _They are assistants and you would be wise to refer to them as such,” Gaster shifted his glasses with his forefinger expressionlessly. As he did everything. He always looked so blank. So empty. That smile was practically painted on for all the good it did, but Sans was used to it. Gaster rarely had a real smile, and the only times that he did were not times that Sans looked forward to._

  
  


 

  
  


“ _... You didn't answer my question,” Sans said pointedly, rifling through some of the papers that he had been instructed to sort through for mathematical errors. It didn't even matter when he found any (because he always did) as Gaster's 'assistants' would undoubtedly be going back over them in a few hours anyway. So why bother doing the work when someone else would do it for him?_

  
  


“ _Do you not want to be the savior of monsterkind?” the taller skeleton asked wryly. “Or are you still so selfish as to keep everyone behind the barrier?”_

  
  


“ _You know full well that the stupid blasters aren't going to tear down the barrier no matter how many times we hit it,” Sans grinned. “Why not just give up? I did.”_

  
  


“ _I know,” Gaster said quietly. “You reprobrate. That's why we have the backup.”_

  
  


“ _Yeah, and 'the backup' has a name, you know.” San's grin fell from his face. Irritation was beginning to take over, but he forced it back down. He needed to keep a clear head._

  
  


“ _He will have a proper name when he earns it,” he replied tartly, shifting through papers. “You should feel privileged that you are being included at all.”_

  
  


“ _Yeah. Because 'privileged' is exactly what I feel during our 'sessions'. Y'know. That, and mind breakingly tortuous agony.”_

  
  


 

  
  


_Gaster let out a breath through his teeth, his expression unchanging._

  
  


“ _One day you will thank me, Sans. You will thank the stars for ever having the_ right _to know me. Stars that you will get to see after we eradicate humanity.”_

  
  


“ _See, statements like that are the reason why I think it's a good thing that you're trapped down here and not up there.”_

  
  


_Gaster didn't react. Not in the traditional sense. He did, however, become very quiet and very, very still, and Sans couldn't keep the grin off of his face. His session today was going to be absolutely brutal, he had no doubt. But that didn't matter to him._

  
  


_It was a little game between them by this point. If he could get under the skeleton's skin (hah) and elicit a response from the seemingly emotionless scientist, then that was it. He won. They both knew it. That made it more fun._

  
  


 

  
  


_But Gaster always was a sore loser._

  
  


_Sans almost didn't care how many times he begged for death that day._

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	13. What You Could Be

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


For a skeleton, Papyrus sure felt like he was sweating an awful lot.

  
  


 

  
  


“Two ninety-five,” Undyne slammed the ground with her palm, determined stare powering him onward. She wore black jeans and a workout tank top, flaming red hair pulled back into a ponytail to stay out of her eye. “Come on, Paps, _push_ it!”

  
  


He strained his back ramrod stiff as he forced himself through two more push ups, sweat dripping down between his brow bone. His arms felt like gelatin and he was definitely dizzy, but he wouldn't let Undyne down. No, he _couldn't_ let her down. He pushed and struggled to lift himself, the blue magic constantly weighing himself down was almost too much to bear. But as with all things, he grit his teeth, screwed up his eye sockets in concentration and shoved hard no matter how much it burned. If he had muscles he was sure that they would be on fire by this point.

  
  


 

  
  


“Three hundred!” Undyne crowed victoriously as she helped him to his feet. “Now _that's_ what I'm talking about!” she was bouncing on the balls of her feet eagerly, her smile wide. “Alright, now for laps around Waterfall!”

  
  


_If you say so._

  
  


“Yeah, let's do it!” Papyrus forced his voice loudly, although it lacked the emotion that he wanted it to. He felt drained as it were, but he could focus on that later. Why was he so unenthusiastic lately? Maybe the constant exercise would help to clear his head. He glanced around when Undyne started stretching, catching a glimpse of what he thought was a yellow flash out of the corner of his eye socket. There was nothing there though. He shook himself a bit, trying to clear his head. He was seeing things. Physical and magical exertion could do that sometimes, if a monster was pushed hard enough. One time he had pushed himself so hard that he thought he saw a completely gray monster staring over the edge of a cliff, but they were gone the next moment and he had spent over three hours worriedly trying to find anyone that looked like that in Waterfall to no avail. He had resigned himself to not start losing it when he pushed himself to the edge, and for that he had to be stronger. No matter what, he needed to be stronger. For Undyne. For Sans. For Frisk.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus felt himself fill with determination as he closed his eye sockets, taking in a long, steady breath that he exhaled quietly. When he finished the lights in his eye sockets burned just as brightly as ever, and he was even getting a bit excited at the prospect of his morning run. He stood ramrod straight and rolled his shoulders, working out the kinks in his back as he steadied himself yet again. Undyne prepped him to start, one arm stretching to the ground as they knelt before she gave the signal. They didn't start off with a full sprint, although Papyrus knew for a fact that they would be working up to it. He pumped his legs hard as he strained to keep up with the much faster and more agile Undyne, the captain easily staying almost two yards ahead of him at all times. Papyrus's gaze narrowed to the small of her back.

  
  


 

  
  


Waterfall was already warm, and his soul was slamming in his chest, booted feet pounding through puddles as he kept an even pace just behind Undyne, watching her hair bob gracefully with every leaping bound. He didn't want to be left behind, his face burned with just the thought of being left in the dust, and he shoved himself onward, breath huffing and chest heaving as he pumped his legs harder and harder, single minded in his goal. Undyne even gave him a surprised glance as he sprinted past her in just a few leaping bounds, and she was bolting forward at a full sprint before long, racing neck and neck with him around Waterfall. Undyne was cackling and Papyrus was gasping for breath as he darted forward, mind deliriously blank as he pushed himself onward. He had to push himself, had to be stronger. _Needed_ to be stronger, for Sans, for Undyne, for Frisk, for everyone. It wasn't about him, the people _needed_ him to improve. Stronger, stronger, stronger. Better, harder, faster, _stronger._ It was this that spurred him further, needfully, _faster_ as he slammed one foot after another, arms pumping through the air as he let out a victorious _nyeh!_

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus was out of breath as he came skidding to a halt before Undyne's house, sweating and gasping heavily. Undyne seemed to be in a similar boat, her grin absolutely manic as she stood before him, hands on her knees as she gasped.

  
  


 

  
  


“Holy _shit_ , Papyrus!” Undyne beamed at him. “Where did _that_ come from?”

  
  


It took him several long minutes to catch his breath, his chest and legs burning and aching. Papyrus just shook his head when Undyne offered to help him stand. He needed to be able to do it on his own. He cracked his sore back and rolled his shoulders, leveling himself out for a few moments as she stretched.

  
  


 

  
  


“Alright punk...” her grin grew almost feral. “Now that our warm up is finished, time for a sparring match!”

  
  


“ _Already_...?” Papyrus frowned a bit worriedly. “Don't you need to-to catch your breath, or-or-”

  
  


“No stalling!” Undyne slapped him on the shoulder. “Hurry up and start attacking, let's get this show on the road!”

  
  


Papyrus sighed and obliged, stretching out his right arm. Every single day with this. But he would force himself onward anyway. His thoughts narrowed to a single point, his shoulders stilling as he focused. A cascade of magic swirled in his fingertips and a small, easily dodged straight line of bones slid over the ground toward Undyne. She just stared at him for a moment before sidestepping them, her wide smile slowly fading.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Come on_ , Papyrus,” she glowered at him. “I don't need training wheels! Crank it up to _eleven_ already, hit me with everything you've got!”

  
  


“I-I'll try harder,” he swallowed dryly. He raised his arm again and sent out an undulating wave of fibulas, again, all of which were easily avoided. He wouldn't start off full blast, he even kept the magical attack in a neat, tidy pattern, and Undyne seemed mildly irritated by this as well.

  
  


“Harder,” she commanded. “Faster too!”

  
  


 

  
  


She flicked her wrist and his soul shivered as it turned green, several spears floating in the air behind her. Papyrus nervously resisted the urge to step backward, knowing that it would do no good.

  
  


“You ready for this?” Undyne grinned wildly.

  
  


“I was _born_ ready,” he clenched his fists, a long femur conjured into his hand as he batted away the incoming projectiles, simultaneously sending out a rippling wave of bones that ruptured the earth. Several jutted down from the ceiling, causing her to duck and weave nimbly through them as she summoned more spears, each of which were easily batted away by Papyrus.

  
  


 

  
  


He felt the sweat rapidly coming back and pour down his bones as spears rocketed and ricocheted in multiple directions, some flying off in random directions. She batted them so hard that they blew chunks out of the wall, but neither of them slowed even a bit.

  
  


“Come on, Papyrus!” Undyne bellowed, deftly hurling spear after conjured spear at him. He couldn't back away but he could still slip to the left and right, nimbly sidestepping one spear after another, and watched as one of the magical spears embedded itself nearly a quarter of the way into the stone wall just behind him. He was lucky that she wasn't giving it her all, and he could tell. Maybe that was what he deserved for fighting the way he did, maybe she was just being polite. Either way, it was starting to make him just a _bit_ angry. What, did she think that he couldn't handle it or something?

“Bring it already, hit me Papyrus!”

  
  


 

  
  


Instead, Papyrus reached into the well of magic and cast out his arm, sending a wave of incrementally heightening bones that ripped and tore through earthy soil, each and every one at an easy and manageable pace.

  
  


“Dude!” Undyne was looking offended now. “Come on, I _know_ you can do better than that. Put your all into it already!”

  
  


Papyrus bit back his words, struggling to focus through the magically induced battle haze. She was goading him and he knew it, and it seemed to be going nowhere. He needed to be stronger, but he couldn't just go all out on her. Or _any_ one, for that matter. He couldn't do as she instructed, no matter how much he wanted to. It would mean hurting someone. Papyrus could absolutely not allow himself to unleash it all, not ever again. He had to stay calm, had to stay focused, had to stay in control of himself no matter how gradually it seemed to be slipping through his phalanges in the sieve of growing anger.

  
  


“Are-are you certain you want me to do that?” Papyrus frowned, shifting from foot to foot. “Maybe we can just-”

  
  


“ _Yes_ I'm freakin' sure!” Undyne stamped a foot against the earth in irritation. “Nyagh! How many times have we trained, Paps?”

  
  


“Wait, I was supposed to be _keeping count?!”_

  
  


“No, no,” she pinched the spot between her eyes, flicking a new spear into existence and gripping it hard. “What I _mean_ is, we fight all the time. I _know_ how your attacks work. I know when you're _holding back._ ”

  
  


Papyrus froze up instantly, panic and unease flooding his chest.

  
  


“So hurry up and turn me blue already, bonehead!” Undyne flipped a spear into the air and caught it nimbly between her fingers. “At least give me a _challenge_ when I kick your butt, _jeez_.”

  
  


Papyrus sighed again and shook his head, slowly leveling his arm toward Undyne. He couldn't fight off the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, and it was upsetting that he couldn't see anyone else around. She held still for just a moment so that he could more easily focus on her soul, and it was pulled from her tank top in a brilliant shade of blue.

  
  


 

  
  


“Now this is more like it...” Undyne grinned ferally, her breathing quickening.

  
  


“Are you _sure_ you want to do this-?” he tried to ask before he was interrupted.

  
  


“Alright, let's rock this!” Undyne screamed at the top of her lungs, whipping another spear out of her opposite hand. “Bring it on, punk!”

  
  


And with that, the real battle began.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus was filled with discomfort the entire time he dodged spears, throwing bones out faster and faster to keep up the pace. There was simply no way that he could go all out on someone, let alone his closest friend and mentor. Too many unknown variables, too many things that could go wrong. What if she missed her window of opportunity to dodge and someone was seriously injured? Papyrus didn't even know if he could live with himself for hurting someone that badly, the idea of accidentally harming someone seemed absolutely horrifying, but he fought on regardless, sidestepping and dodging and reflecting spears like his life depended on it. Which, with as speedily and accurately as the spears were flying, might have been the case. Wave after wave of rocketing bones flew through the air, some crashing into oncoming spears and exploding in little clouds of magical debris. Papyrus was panting heavily, leveling a conjured bone like a club at her, spinning it swiftly through his phalanges rapidly as Undyne rushed forward with a battle cry.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus casually slipped out of the way, attempting to trip her up with the makeshift club. Undyne backflipped over it practicedly and hurtled a pair of spears through the air at the same time. He managed to quickly summon a small wall of bone shield to catch them both, and the _shattering_ sound was heard as it echoed through the caverns when more of the spears rammed and stuck halfway through. Papyrus whirled a couple more magic tibulas from the earth, and she drifted away easily, her grin wild and manic. She did not account, however, for the rushed bones that he sent slamming down from above, and one of the jagged ones _tore_ roughly through her right shoulder before she could slip out of the danger zone. He heard a sickening _crack_ of snapping bone as she fell to one knee, gasping sweatily and grasping her shoulder.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Crap baskets!”_ Papyrus shrieked as he dismissed his weapon with a little flurry of magic sparks. He tripped over himself, scrabbling over bloodied debris and chunks of stone and rushing to her side, and her shoulders were shaking hard. “Oh god, Undyne! I'm sorry, oh _god_ are you okay?”

  
  


It took him a few moments to realize that she was _laughing_.

  
  


 

  
  


“Holy _crap_ , man...” she wiped a tear from her eye with her uninjured arm. “Oh _dude_ , that is going to hurt in the morning.” she was beaming up at him as he shakily helped her to her feet.

  
  


“Undyne! I-I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry, I-I-I...! Does-does it hurt...?” he was dancing from foot to foot nervously. “Oh god, oh _god_ I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry Undyne!”

  
  


“Dude, c'mon. Stop freaking out,” Undyne chuckled weakly, still holding her bleeding shoulder. She was sweating profusely and her scales seemed just a bit pale. “It'll be alright. Just a little cut. You can seriously pack a punch when you wanna. Why, uh... why don't you head home for the day?”

  
  


“What?” Papyrus blinked, struggling not to show that he was hurt. Obviously not as badly as her. “Undyne, you've been injured, at least let me _heal_ you or something-”

  
  


“I said it's alright,” she waved him off without meeting his gaze. “I'm pretty beat though, I'm, uh... I'm gonna grab something to eat and call it a day. Go take care of your lazybones brother and the mini punk. I'll just hit the showers, you should do the same. Alright?”

Papyrus couldn't _believe_ what he was hearing. Why wouldn't she look at him? What was it with her? Was there something wrong with him? Was it because he had messed up? Oh god, he had screwed up so badly, she was never going to train him again and he'd never be in the royal guard because he was a danger to everyone around him and he couldn't _breathe_ , couldn't think, why wouldn't she let him heal her? Didn't see see all of the blood leaking from her shoulder? He didn't even care that a bunch of it had gotten on him, he felt _ill_.

  
  


 

  
  


“Seriously, dude. It's cool,” she said through gritted teeth. She clapped a hand on his shoulder, and despite the pain she had a kind look in her glinting eye. “Be back here in the morning for training. I'll be fine by tomorrow. Alright?”

  
  


Papyrus wanted desperately to fight her on the issue, he wanted to argue with her until she saw reason and let him heal her, but his mind was reeling. She wanted him to come back. But she was more important than that. It wasn't good too go to sleep with an injury like that, even with the healing properties of monster food he worried. Eventually however he caved beneath her iron glare and let out an irritated sigh.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Alright, Undyne.” his head hanged a little. “I'll... I'll see you in the morning.”

  
  


“Sweet,” she tried to wave at him with her injured arm before letting out a pained hiss. “Bring your apron tomorrow, there's some new recipes you need to learn if you want to be properly prepared for the royal guard.”

  
  


“The wha-?” he blinked. “But-but I thought you said I needed to capture a human to-”

  
  


“Yeah,” she nodded once. “And you caught a human. So you're in the guard now. Congrats, man.”

  
  


It was very quiet. Papyrus really had hoped for some kind of fanfare.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I'm in the royal guard,” he repeated numbly. His body felt heavy and his head felt blank. “I'm... in the royal guard.”

  
  


“It might not be official,” Undyne frowned a little. “But, uh. I've been thinking. Since joining the royal guard would require you to stand before Asgore and I'm pretty sure he'd want to know about your human capturing skills...”

  
  


Papyrus felt his soul sink into his stomach. So, here it was at last. He _knew_ it was too good to be true.

  
  


“You... still want to bring the human to Asgore,” Papyrus finished quietly. Instead of answering immediately, Undyne only gave him a tilt of her head and smirked.

  
  


“... Who says Asgore has to know?”

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus cackled happily as he swept her up off the ground, swinging her back and forth.

  
  


“Oh my god oh my god oh my _god_ Undyne thank you, thank OH _CRAP_ I'M SORRY!”

  
  


He dropped her and she fell to her knees, holding her shoulder and letting out a poor impersonation of a tea kettle.

  
  


 

  
  


“Just...” Undyne said with a painfully forced smile. “Rest up for now. Get your bony butt back here in the morning. We've gotta get you fitted up for when you're officially in. Got it?”

  
  


“Understood, captain!” Papyrus saluted promptly, his scarf billowing a little. “I will rest like nobody has rested before! Nyeh heh heh!”

  
  


“Y-yeah. You do that, buddy,” Undyne said through that same pained smile. He didn't even hear the rest of what she had to say, as he was already bounding off through Waterfall. Undyne finally let herself relax a little, shuddering in pain.

  
  


The shoulder wound had cut deeper than she had anticipated. A _lot_ deeper.

  
  


But there was no longer any doubt in her mind. He had a lot of untapped potential, a lot of heart. She momentarily considered relocating his sentry station to Hotland or Waterfall, considering that Snowdin's guards all tended to be a little too fixated on bones for their own good. She let out a sigh, running her uninjured hand through her sweat soaked red hair.

  
  


 

  
  


Gerson was undoubtedly going to have a few choice words for her when she asked him to heal her again. She really owed him for all the years, and there was no doubt in her mind that he was going to be more than a little pissed that she came back to him with yet another battle scar.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus treaded through the murky water with his head forcibly held high. Undyne was fine. He didn't need to go making himself feel guilty for giving her a scratch. She was _fine._ That didn't stop him from feeling _terrible_ about it though. Normally he'd have taken the ferry back to Snowdin, but today he was in the mood for a walk. He walked and walked until the wetlands began to give way to gradually drier lands, and he had to stop a few times to empty the water from his boots, but it didn't bother him. Much.

  
  


It didn't matter.

  
  


 

Tomorrow everything came together. What he had worked toward for years.

Tomorrow, he was joining the royal guard.

  
  


True, it wasn't _official_ , and that stung a little bit. Like even when he was reaching his dream job it wasn't quite like he imagined it. He would have liked more pomp and circumstance. More dramatic flair, maybe a few trumpets to declare his magnificence, but this was nice too.

  
  


Sans was going to be overjoyed to hear the news. Papyrus could hardly contain his glee himself. He did a couple of hops and skips giddily as he walked, swinging his arms in stride.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Howdy!”_

  
  


Papyrus almost jumped out of his battle body when he heard the familiar, high pitched voice.

  
  


“Oh! Hello there, little flower friend!” he knelt to the yellow petaled flower that had popped up from the ground at his feet, smiling widely at him. “It's good to see you again, Flowey! How have you been?”

  
  


“Oh, you know,” Flowey pulled a vine from the ground and tilted it back and forth like he would a hand. “Doing fine. Keeping to myself. You know little ol' me, never was much one for excitement. You certainly seem to lead an interesting life though!”

  
  


 

  
  


Watching the flower's face was strange to Papyrus. He recognized the looks, the emotions, but it was almost like he was watching a reproduction instead of the real thing. It was... a little eerie, but he didn't want to seem rude.

  
  


“The life of the Great Papyrus is indeed an adventurous one,” he patted the flower on the head. For a moment he thought he saw him scowl, but it was gone the next moment. “Exploits of daring danger and heroics galore. Average day for me.”

  
  


“Oh, Papyrus,” Flowey lifted himself from the ground, his stem sprouting upward until he was head height with the skeleton. “You always were my favorite.”

  
  


“Well, naturally,” he held a gloved hand to his chest, trying not to show just how badly Flowey had startled him by his sudden height change. “I'm the Great Papyrus. I'm everyone's favorite.”

  
  


This elicited a warbling, shrill laugh.

  
  


 

  
  


“We should sit down and talk,” Flowey purred. “Just you and me. For old time's sake. What do you say?”

  
  


“I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check,” Papyrus shook his head gently. “I still have yet to make dinner for Sans and-” he paused, uncertain. He didn't know why it felt like such a bad idea to inform his friend about Frisk. “-And someone else.”

  
  


“Oh, of course,” Flowey inspected the tip of his vine like it was his fingernails. “I understand perfectly if you've gotten bored of me, Papyrus. I'm just a boring little flower, you've clearly got better things to do. What with your new _friend_ and all.”

  
  


Papyrus really did not like the way that he said it, although he felt a bit guilty regardless.

  
  


 

  
  


“It's really not _like_ that...” Papyrus shifted from foot to foot, unable to fully meet his gaze. “I just-”

  
  


“Say, _Papyrus_ ,” Flowey interrupted as if he wasn't really interested in hearing anything he had to say. “We've known each other for _so_ long. We're friends, right?”

  
  


“Well, yes, naturally we are!” he said proudly. “You're acting so strange today, Flowey. Of course you're my best friend.”

  
  


The flower gave him a queer, tilted glance. He looked... offended? Confused? Surprised? Hurt? Whatever it was, it lasted only a bare second, and Papyrus wasn't quite sure that he hadn't imagined it altogether.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You know, Papyrus,” Flowey stage whispered conspiratorially before checking around him to search for others. But of course there was nobody else around. He had grown careful to prevent being seen by anyone aside from the skeleton, and lurking monsters were easy to sway, keeping the area free of life. “You're right. We _are_ best friends. And best friends share their _secrets_ with each other, right?”

  
  


“W-well, yes, I suppose-”

  
  


“And wouldn't you know it,” he grinned a little too widely at him. “I just so _happen_ to be choc full of secrets.”

  
  


“Really? What kind, flower friend?”

  
  


“Oh, you know. The kind of secrets that make you want to claw your own soul out to get the knowledge out of you. The kind of secrets that warp your mind and your perception of the world around you when you realize the truth. The kind of secrets that make you think that everyone you know and love is out to _kill you_. Knowledge is power, you know, and what with you joining the royal guard tomorrow you're going to need _all_ the power that you can get your bony hands on.”

  
  


 

  
  


So he _had_ been watching.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Thanks, but no thanks, flower friend,” Papyrus shook his head slowly. “I don't think-”

  
  


“ _Exactly_ ,” Flowey's expression sharpened. “You didn't _think_.” It was a few seconds before his face softened almost in a practiced manner. “But don't you _worry_. That's what you've got your _best friend_ for! Tee hee.”

  
  


Even his laugh sounded rehearsed. It was making Papyrus extremely uneasy. Maybe that was just the effect that Flowey had on others. He was creepy, but he couldn't help it. It was just how he was. Was that why he told Papyrus that he didn't have any other friends? He felt so sorry for the little flower. He watched quietly as Flowey rescinded back into the ground with a little wink. Papyrus let out a relieved little sigh as soon as he was out of sight.

  
  


 

  
  


Then he popped back up right behind him, causing him to jolt.

  
  


“Meet me in the usual place tonight, Papyrus,” Flowey smiled toothily at him. “I think it's time you learned the truth about your new... _friend_.”

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus really was his favorite toy.

  
  


And being his favorite, Flowey knew _exactly_ where to apply pressure in order to cause him to _crack_.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


_Sans was falling._

  
  


He'd had several dreams like this one. Falling through the dark like he had just thrown himself into the bottomless pit in Waterfall. It felt like forever, like he was being swallowed by the dark. Or maybe he was just standing still and it only felt like he was falling. He couldn't tell.

  
  


… _I'm here again._

  
  


 

  
  


He could hear arguing somewhere in the shadows, and he pressed toward it. Just as before, he found nothing at first. He reached out with his magic, feeling that strange warmth in his chest. It was almost like it was pulling him along, like it was directing him through the dark. It felt like hours that he had been pressing on, but he finally heard it.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm telling you, we have to _run_!”

  
  


He _knew_ that voice. And now, he even knew the face that it was attached to.

  
  


_Chara._

  
  


 

  
  


“Please, Chara; just give me a chance, I c-can fix this!”

  
  


“What are you, _retarded_?” he heard them scoff, and he pressed harder in the direction the voices were emanating from. “It's never going to stop, we can't _trust_ him...!”

  
  


“Please listen, Chara – he can be _good_ , I know, I _know_ he can...”

  
  


 

  
  


Silence fell.

  
  


Sans paused, suddenly feeling very lost in the dark.

Without their voices to guide him, he felt as if he were stranded on an island. Too isolated. Too _alone_. He reached out with all of his magic, all his soul, all the burning in his chest. It was like something clicked when he pushed, and suddenly he was standing before the squabbling children, both of whom froze when they saw him.

  
  


 

  
  


“... This is kind of uncharted territory for me here,” Sans tried to say, his voice coming out watery and warbled. “Where's the gift shop?”

  
  


Frisk was reaching out for him, screaming something that he couldn't hear. All he could make out was the shouting of Chara as he was sent hurtling backwards into the dark, colors exploding behind his eye sockets-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans jolted upright, sweat causing his clothes to stick to his bones. His head was pounding so hard that he couldn't see properly out of his left eye right away. There were flashes of gold and red, but it faded after a minute of closing his eyes and forcing his breathing to resume at a more even pace.

  
  


The human was still and silent with their head in his lap, legs stretched out over the remainder of the couch. He gently reached out and patted their head, uncertainty gnawing at his stomach.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Frisk?”

  
  


They groaned miserably, holding their head and curling up a little.

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans...” they murmured. “Sans, my head hurts.”

  
  


He tilted their head up with his hand, making them crane their neck until he could see directly into their eyes.

  
  


Brown.

  
  


 

  
  


“Good to have you back, buddy,” he gave them a gentle hug. “Sorry you're not feelin' too good.”

  
  


Frisk mumbled something, trying to curl up further against him.

  
  


 

  
  


“Now's not a good time for a nap, Frisk...” Sans patted their head again. “Come on. We've still gotta play twenty questions.”

  
  


They stiffened considerably.

  
  


 

  
  


“I just want you to know, you don't have to answer anything you don't want to. But you should also know that I just... I just wanna _help_. Okay? And the more I know, the better I can do. Alright, buddy?”

  
  


Frisk didn't answer at first. They slowly turned until they were lying on their back with their head in his lap, staring up at him with a sad frown.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Take your time, kid,” Sans felt their forehead with the back of his hand. They were still uncomfortably warm, but they didn't seem to be on the verge of being sick.

  
  


“Where... where should I start?” Frisk asked, narrowing their brows.

  
  


“How about you start with why I have two kids now instead of one.”

  
  


Frisk looked at him with that odd stare again before closing their eyes, letting out a long, pained sigh.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Chara says I'm not allowed to tell.”

  
  


“Alright,” he shrugged with one shoulder. “They wanna tell me themselves?”

  
  


Frisk slowly shook their head.

  
  


 

  
  


“Sorry, bud, but that's not gonna cut it for an answer. I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong.”

  
  


“There isn't anything _wrong_ with Chara,” Frisk said defensively.

  
  


“Whoa, easy there tiger,” he held up a hand, stroking their hair with his other. The sudden display of ferocity was a surprise, even if it was very brief. “Didn't say there was. You know, aside from them taking you for a test drive now and then and not filling up the tank. You hungry, by the way?”

  
  


Frisk shook their head again.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You sure? Still got your food in the kitchen.”

  
  


They bit their lip uncertainly, looking away.

  
  


“Sans?”

  
  


“Yeah, kiddo.”

  
  


“I trust you.”

  
  


“That's good,” he ran his thumb over their thin eyebrows. “You should be able to trust people.”

  
  


“Do you... do you trust me?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans didn't answer immediately.

  
  


When he didn't answer right away Frisk turned away again, looking as if they might cry. Sans sighed and pulled them a little closer, kissing their forehead. Frisk blinked and their cheeks were dusted with a cherry red.

  
  


“Yeah. I trust you, Frisk.”

  
  


“... Okay,” Frisk took in a shuddering breath. “Okay. So. Um. P-please don't be mad.”

  
  


“I'm not gonna get mad at you, babybones,” he ran his hand over their head again. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  
  


“I-I don't... I didn't wind up in the Underground by accident,” they said quietly, closing their eyes. “I... jumped.”

  
  


Sans didn't say anything. He just pulled them tighter.

  
  


He didn't have to ask why. He had a pretty good idea.

  
  


 

  
  


“So how come you've only got one soul?” Sans asked after a while of silence. “There's two of you. Right? But just one soul. Is your 'friend'...?”

  
  


“No, nothing like that,” Frisk shifted without opening their eyes. “We met when I first fell down. I was scared and hurt, and C-Chara was there for me. Chara already knew how to get out of the ruins since they used to spend so much time there.”

  
  


Frisk froze suddenly as if they had given away too much.

  
  


 

  
  


“So... they're some kind of ghost?” Sans mused aloud, continuing to stroke their hair gently.

  
  


“No,” Frisk shook their head. “Not a ghost.”

  
  


“Then what are they?”

  
  


“They're just... Chara,” Frisk opened their eyes and held out their hands in the air in front of him. “Just Chara. Like me. I'm just Frisk. We're not her or him, we're just... us. I... I guess that's all that either of us ever needed to be.”

  
  


_Frisk, you really are a weird kid._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans pondered this in silence. What was the not-ghost of a human child doing in the Ruins? Did they have the same reset ability that Frisk seemed to? Why did they look so similar? Surely not all humans looked like that. And still something niggled at the back of his mind.

  
  


“How long has Chara been possessing you, kid?”

  
  


“It's-it's not _like_ that,” Frisk said uncomfortably. “It's really not.”

  
  


“Then what is it, if you don't mind me asking?”

  
  


“I-it's more like...” Frisk struggled for words for a moment, closing their eyes again tightly. “It's more like driving a car, and sometimes we switch seats. We can both see where we're going, but only one of us can steer at a time.”

  
  


“Cool. Do you have a radio in there too?”

  
  


Frisk snorted, actually _snorted_ loudly, causing his grin to grow.

  
  


 

  
  


“God. Of all times, _now_ you have a sense of humor.”

  
  


They reopened their eyes, and Sans felt his soul sink a little.

  
  


 

  
  


“Nice to see you again too, Chara,” Sans's smile felt plastered on. He was already irritated, and it was hard to push it down.“Finally decided to join the party, eh?”

  
  


“I don't like people talking about me behind my back,” they scowled. The look really did not suit Frisk in the slightest.

  
  


“I get the feeling that that's going to occur a lot more than you'd like, considering,” Sans tried to say as calmly as possible. “Forgive me if I'm not exactly comfortable with you wearing my kid like a meat suit.”

  
  


“Stop making it sound like I'm taking over their _body_ ,” Chara's frown deepened. “What exactly do you take me for?”

  
  


“A parasite,” he answered honestly. To his surprise, Chara cringed openly, looking away. They bit their bottom lip, crimson eyes glistening. He felt an unexpected sliver of guilt, and he ran a hand over their head slowly.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Look,” he said eventually. “I'm not gonna lie. I don't know you. I don't particularly like you either, but that's neither here nor there.”

  
  


“Golly gee thanks for the vote of fucking confidence.”

  
  


“That's another for the swear jar,” he held up a finger. “But, seriously. I am trying to play nice here, kid.”

  
  


“Slamming me into the dirt and almost choking the life out of me. Yeah. You're just the epitome of kindness.”

  
  


“I said I was _trying_ ,” he growled deeply, causing them to flinch.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sighed and kicked himself internally.

  
  


“Come on, kid. Don't make this harder than it needs to be. I don't wanna make enemies right now. I just wanna make sure Frisk is alright.”

  
  


“Frisk is _fine_ without your help,” Chara said bitterly.

  
  


“See, it would be a different matter altogether if they were the one to make that decision. Not you.”

  
  


“Since when do _you_ care?” they scoffed, crossing their arms over their chest.

  
  


“Since it's my _job_ to care!” Sans could feel the heat rising into his face. Now wasn't the time to be shouting.

  
  


“Oh, your _job?_ As what, my freakin' keeper?”

  
  


“As a caretaker-” he started angrily.

  
  


“ _Piss off,_ you're not my dad-!”

  
  


“I AM FUCKING _TRYING_ TO BE!”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans cringed hard, regret flooding him when Chara reflexively hid their face behind their arms. He didn't like that that was their first reaction whenever he got angry. It wasn't like he was going to hit them just because he could.

  
  


_And you probably could..._ whispered that little voice in the back of his head, only to be buried under another mountain of self loathing.

  
  


 

  
  


“Shit. I-I'm... I'm s-sorry,” he looked away quietly, holding his hand over their forehead. “I didn't mean to shout at you like that, babybones.”

  
  


“... You called me that again.”

  
  


“What?” Sans blinked, glancing downward. Chara was staring at him with a look that he couldn't quite identify, but from how stiff they had grown he was certain that they wanted nothing more than to bolt away and never look back. What was that look? Sadness? Longing? Fear?

  
  


“You... you called me babybones,” Chara said after an awkward silence. “You only ever call Frisk that.”

  
  


“Well... you are,” he shifted. Why was he suddenly getting defensive? “You're both my kids. Even if you both share a body, which is messed up enough on its own by the way; even if you're a bundle of bad attitude and snark, you're still just as much my kid as Frisk is. I said I'd take care of ya, and... and I will.You're... you're both my little babybones.”

  
  


 

  
  


Chara was looking at him with that peculiar stare again. They looked almost... hurt? Why was he having so much difficulty reading their emotions? He was normally so good at it. Maybe it was because he sensed a bit of confusion in their stare, too. And definitely bitterness. The kid was more sour than a bucket of lemons.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I still _hate_ you.” Chara turned away, crossing their arms again.

  
  


“I love you too, babybones.”

  
  


 

  
  


Much to his surprise, Chara didn't take off at the first given opportunity. He'd have sworn that they'd be dragging Frisk halfway through Waterfall the moment his eyes were closed. Chara didn't say anything else for a long time, but Frisk did not return either. Sans flicked on the television with the remote and reclined in the seat. After a while he had almost fallen asleep again.

  
  


He wasn't sure whether it was Chara or Frisk that had sidled up beside him and gave him a silent hug around the belly.

  
  


They really were a weird kid.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	14. Out Of Love

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


It was cold.

  
  


 

  
  


It was so, so _cold_.

  
  


 

  
  


He knew, on some level, that as a skeleton he couldn't really feel the icy chill that the fleshier monsters could, but that knowledge didn't help. He still felt the cold bite regardless. The gurney he was strapped to was like a slab of ice. It was so cold that he could swear he felt his marrow slowly freezing. The taller skeleton never bothered looking up from his notes as the machine screamed to life, blasting a concentrated beam of pure, unfiltered blue magic into his eye.

  
  


The cold suddenly felt like a mercy as overwhelming heat flooded his bones yet again, his muffled cries either unheard or ignored. It was like being slowly dipped in magma, it was excruciatingly hot, unbearable in every sense of the word. The heat seeped into his body and cast out the chill, so fiery that he could feel his marrow boiling in his bones. Too cold, too hot, too cold, too hot – it didn't really matter, in the end. It never did.

  
  


 

  
  


Nothing really mattered.

  
  


That was fine with Sans.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans's mind was a flurry of images as his cognitive functions shut down against his will, unconsciousness creeping its way in from the corners of his eye sockets. The pain like a railroad spike in his left eye was too much, too intense; he couldn't tell what was reality and what was fiction anymore. Flashes of red on gold tiles, of scarves in the snow and dusty knives. Too much information compounded into images rifling through his head. It was like dozens of icy hands reaching out and choking the life from him all at once. He couldn't think clearly. Couldn't speak, couldn't cry out for help that wouldn't come anymore.

  
  


 

  
  


The sweet embrace of sleep called to him, and he reached out to it with a smile as he slowly slipped away.

  
  


 

  
  


And then some _jackass_ had to go and wake him up.

  
  


 

  
  


“Another injection should do,” Gaster reapplied the IV drip into his arm, focused liquid green magic frothing a little in the transparent bag. How many times was he going to drag him back from the brink of death? Maybe it didn't even matter, either. “Do try to stay conscious this time, will you Sans? I've got a lot of ground to cover and your feeble attempts to sway my opinion are growing thinner by the hour.”

  
  


“Sluh ohm bu dob duh muhfuggah,” Sans slurred incoherently, the lights in his eye sockets fuzzy as he fought to prevent the green magic from healing him. Maybe if he could just resist it long enough he would be lucky enough to turn to dust before Gaster finished his experiments. He'd gladly turn to dust out of spite by this point.

  
  


But there was the matter of the 'backup'.

  
  


He really had grown too attached to it.

  
  


Him.

  
  


Attached to _him_.

  
  


He had a name. Even if Gaster refused to acknowledge it.

  
  


 

  
  


“Use your words, Sans,” Gaster fiddled with a couple of dials on the crane like machine, and the power rumbling through it's center rattled his bones a little.

  
  


“I – said,” he muttered through tightly clenched teeth as he pulled uselessly at the restraints. “ _Slob_ on my _knob_ , you motherf-”

  
  


Sans's words died in his throat as Gaster flicked a switch, sending yet another seemingly endless barrage of heavily concentrated magic blasting into his eye socket. It hurt, it boiled him, it burned it _fucking hurt_ and Gaster just kept on doing it over and over and over as he shrieked, asking the exact same question each time.

  
  


 

  
  


A cozy little house in the snow with a pair of mailboxes out front. Blue magic coursing through his bones. Countless skeletal fingers crawling over his skull. A tall, regal looking goat monster with a fuzzy beard and a wide smile shaking hands with a withered old human. Figures and letters in a lost language that he didn't understand. Dust, so much dust billowing in the wind, empty corridors and hollow laughter. Grey figures holding gelatinous black pieces of quivering matter that felt too familiar and surreally unfamiliar simultaneously. Bloodied bones and broken screams, endless cycles of chaotic memories that didn't belong, that hadn't happened, that had been long ago, that never would come to be.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans wasn't sure when the beam had been lowered, but he could still feel the burning sensation in his left eye. The clunky device slowly wound down, the high pitched wheeze of the thrumming machine still filling the air. He couldn't even see straight anymore, the slamming between his eye sockets was just too much, he couldn't see, he couldn't think, why wouldn't anyone just help him? He knew that the assistants heard. They knew everything that went on in the underground facility. They didn't care. None of them did. So long as they got their name on the papers, it didn't matter to any of them how loudly he begged, how many times he'd screamed himself hoarse.

  
  


 

  
  


“Now, I'm going to ask again,” Gaster asked calmly as if he were discussing the weather, striding to his side and leaning over him a little with a clipboard in his holed hands. “What do you see pertaining to the machine? Did you see the rift?”

  
  


Sans either couldn't, or wouldn't bring himself to answer.

  
  


Gaster let out a quiet sigh through his nostril bone, rearranging his spectacles.

  
  


 

  
  


“Are you sure that you don't want another dose of the anesthetic?” Gaster asked in an aggravatingly almost gentle tone. “You know that I worry for you, Sans.”

  
  


“... Wow,” Sans breathed croakily after what felt like hours. “And here I thought you had no sense of humor.”

  
  


Sans didn't care if he irritated him by this point. He couldn't bear the thought of having that damned 'anesthetic' injected into his arm again. It was most certainly not just a painkiller like Gaster claimed it was. It hollowed him out on the inside, it didn't just make it hard to think, it made it impossible to think for himself. Made him too susceptible. The fact that Gaster presented him with the illusion of choice was already cruel enough.

  
  


 

  
  


Instead of reacting as he expected, Gaster only sighed again, standing up straight.

  
  


“Very well,” he said without a trace of emotion. “Then I shall just be forced to give your dosage to the backup-”

  
  


“Don't,” Sans growled hatefully. “Don't, don't you _fucking_ DARE...!”

  
  


“You have been warned about swearing in my presence,” he replied coolly. “And why would you _care_? I thought you didn't even want it around in the first place.”

  
  


“HE is not an _IT_!” Sans tried to shout, but his throat was just too sore, and it came out cracking and weak. “I don't want him dead, I just don't want him any-fucking-where _near_ you, you goddamned manipulative psychopath!”

  
  


Gaster smiled.

  
  


He actually, for the first time Sans had ever seen, smiled. Not that false, plastic thing that he wore constantly. A wide, cheerful, eager smile.

  
  


 

  
  


It still haunted him.

  
  


 

  
  


“Perhaps you need a deterrent,” Gaster said simply. Sans flinched when he reached for the dials on the laser, and stared in confusion as it was slowly turned away. Sans felt sweaty and worn thin already, but the little action made him even more wary. “Obviously, persuading you with logic and reason is getting us nowhere. What you really need is _motivation_.”

  
  


“... No,” Sans fought weakly against the straps, reaching for magic that he didn't have for a fight that he couldn't win. “No, no no _no_ , please, c'mon doc, don't-!”

  
  


“You still seem to be under the delusion that you can give me _orders_ ,” Gaster's smile widened a little bit. “Do you even know why I do the things that I do, Sans?”

  
  


“Because you're a sadistic fuck who gets off on the suffering of defenseless children?” Sans asked innocently.

  
  


Gaster's smile froze in place.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I think that you can have the privilege of sitting in on the backup's session today. Clearly the trial study will end in failure no matter the circumstance. Who knows, maybe you can learn a thing or two from it about respecting your elders.”

  
  


“See, I _knew_ it wasn't just about getting results,” Sans forced a little grin, trying to mimic Gaster's too wide smile. It hurt to do it, like part of him was dying, but when the rest of him felt like dying what was a little more? “This was personal to you ever since you made us, amirite?”

  
  


Gaster peered down at him from behind his spectacles, like one might observe an insect.

  
  


“Don't flatter yourself. This has been 'personal' since before the war. Don't you understand, Sans? Don't you _get_ it? No, of course you don't. Your mind is underdeveloped. You simply lack the capacity. But you _will_ understand, Sans.” he continued, slowly running a hand down Sans's forehead and cheek, causing him to shudder. “Once we get to the surface, everything will become clear. Maybe one day you'll finally understand that what I do, I do only out of LOVE.”

  
  


“... Hey, 'doc'.”

  
  


“What is it, Sans.”

  
  


Not a question. Merely an acknowledgment that he had spoken. Something he rarely received. Gaster had his back turned to him by this point, like Sans wasn't even worth paying attention to.

  
  


 

  
  


“Sometimes? You make me really glad that humans won the war.”

  
  


Sans hated himself for being weak. He hated himself for being cowardly. He hated himself for being bitter, for being spiteful, for being traitorous for being angry and hateful and vengeful and everything that Papyrus was not.

  
  


Mostly, however, he hated himself for the wrath that he had just brought down upon Papyrus's head. The little skeleton who looked at everything he saw with wide eyed wonder and hope. Who was so happy to see him whenever he returned to their 'room' with the too small cots and cold steel walls. Who begged him, pleaded with him day after day to just give Gaster another chance, that all he really needed to redeem himself was someone who cared.

  
  


Sans hated himself for a lot of things.

  
  


 

  
  


And for once in his life, he hated someone _else_ significantly more.

  
  


This time, when Gaster spoke as he jumpstarted the device, he couldn't even make himself heard over the screaming-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans fell from the sofa and faceplanted into the floor, the taste of carpet the only thing to register through his pained screams. He was sweating profusely and his chest felt horrendously tight, like he couldn't breathe in enough air anymore. The pounding behind his eye sockets was so fierce, so intense, it was like he could still see that goddamned _smirk_.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans caught his breath after hacking and coughing violently, grasping weakly at his chest and heaving. The room was spinning too quickly, and all he had to hold on to was the floor. He could feel his left eye twitching and flickering as blue magic leaked from his eye socket, which he was quick to snuff out. He took in huge gulps, feeling the sharpness in his chest slowly ebb away. He stared down at the patterns in the carpet for what felt like hours, his head whirling.

  
  


 

  
  


_See, this is what happens when you drink. Dumbass._

  
  


 

  
  


He gradually pulled himself from the floor by the edge of the couch, freezing when he saw that Frisk was backed against the wall like they were trying to blend in with the wallpaper, eyes wide and fearful.

  
  


“... 'Sup?” Sans held up a hand feebly, feeling strongly like being sick. “You okay, buddy?”

  
  


Frisk opened and closed their mouth several times, but didn't speak.

  
  


 

  
  


“S-sorry 'bout that,” Sans chuckled weakly, but there was clearly no heart in it. “Do me a favor, kid? Never, ever drink. Just trust me on this one.”

  
  


He started to open his mouth to speak again with what he hoped was a clever pun about whining and dining; however, that thought was swiftly brought to a standstill when Frisk tackled him around the stomach, almost knocking him off his feet.

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans! Don't _scare_ me like that!” Frisk demanded tearfully. “Please, p-please Sans, don't do that...!”

  
  


“Okay, okay, it's alright,” he tried to say as soothingly as he could, patting the back of their head. His hands felt clammy and he couldn't stop trembling, and Frisk seemed to be in no better condition, breathing so rapidly that he thought for a moment that they might end up hyperventilating. If they weren't already. He still couldn't focus properly. Not after that memory forcefully resurfaced. “It was nothing ta worry about, babybones. Everything is okay. Alright? Everything is f-fine. Just-just a... just a bad dream, is all. C'mon, kiddo. Please... please don't cry.”

  
  


Frisk squeezed him around the middle and he had to resist the urge to push them away. Not that hugs weren't nice and all, but there was a good chance that he was going to be sick and he really did not want to do that immediately.

  
  


 

  
  


He stood there holding on to the shaking child for nearly a full painfully silent few minutes (partially because the room was still at an awkward angle) before finally patting them on the head with a quiet sigh.

  
  


“Hey. C'mon, Frisky bits. You should know better than to worry 'bout ol' Sansy,” he gave a little grin down at them. They were such a good kid. It tore him up inside that they were so frightened by him. “I'm so tough that I eat nails for breakfast.”

  
  


“Sans-”

  
  


“Without any milk,” he added with a conspiratorial wink.

  
  


“Sans, I'm really serious!” Frisk looked as if they might cry again, and Sans guiltily pulled them into a hug.

  
  


“Alright, alright...” he shifted from foot to foot. “Didn't mean to spook ya, buddy. I'm... I really am sorry that you had t'see that, kiddo. I don't usually have fits like that.”

  
  


 

  
  


It was an outright lie and he knew it, but if it helped them feel a bit better then he would continue to lie his nonexistent ass off. If it meant that they could be a little bit happier, then he would lie and lie and lie through his teeth until his teeth fell out. He was too tired, too drained, and the thought of seeing them cry again was just too much to bear.

  
  


“... Hey,” he said after they had dried their eyes for a bit. “I got a surprise for you.”

  
  


“It's not another hamburger in your pocket, is it?” Frisk cringed a little.

  
  


“Pfft, no, probably not,” he chortled. He reached out to pat them on the head, and his phalanges lingered on their bruised eye. “... Why don't you go grab some ice for that while I run and grab the surprise? A'ight, kiddo?”

  
  


Frisk looked relatively confused but nodded after a moment. The worry steadily grew in his gut, his chest twisting painfully. Leaving them constantly terrified of him wasn't going to help. He tried to convince himself that the thought forming in his head was born only of necessity; he would just be detached about it and get them to calm down, no need to go getting invested. Despite how weirdly it made him ache that they would give him that _horrified_ look when he had fallen out of the nightmares. Sans silently watched them scurry off to the kitchen before hopping into a shortcut.

  
  


 

  
  


He emerged from the void in his dark bedroom, and he fumbled with the light for a minute before almost giddily throwing open his closet. His thoughts were blurry and his head ached, but this he could do. Of course, it was still there. He had hardly taken it out of the musty cardboard box ever since Papyrus had brought it home from the dump all those years ago. And yet, there it was, gradually collecting dust. Sans blew the cobweb sticking to it away, wiping it down with his sleeve before picking it up in both arms and carrying the box downstairs. It really was heavier than he recalled, but he didn't mind. Frisk was sitting on the couch with a single ice cube pressed to their bruised eye.

  
  


 

  
  


He paused in the middle of the living room to stare at them, slowly setting the box on the floor.

  
  


“... Uh, you know you can wrap that in a cloth or something, right?” he asked, looking pointedly at the ice cube. Frisk only shrugged, popping the ice into their mouth and crunching it a little before swallowing it. Sans shook his head with a small grin.

  
  


 

  
  


“Alright, kiddo. So, you like music, huh?”

  
  


“Y-yeah...?” Frisk said uncertainly, pulling their legs up underneath them.

  
  


“This old thing came down into the dump a billion years ago,” he cracked the cardboard box open fully before hauling out the record player. Frisk peered over at it curiously, and Sans beamed proudly as he set it on the floor. “It's ridiculously hard to find records for it, but I've collected a couple. Man, the last time I pulled this thing out of the box...”

  
  


The front door rattled for a moment before Papyrus stumbled in. Sans froze, taking in the sight. The taller skeleton looked relatively worn down, with a stain on his battle body and _oh god is that blood?!_

  
  


 

  
  


“... Paps?” Sans stared uneasily, unable to take his eye off of the crimson mark.

  
  


“Ah, good to see you made it back before me,” Papyrus clicked the door shut behind him, letting out a heavy sigh. “Hello to you too, human Frisk.”

  
  


He looked so... tired. The lines under Papyrus's eye sockets was plain as day, and the more that Sans stared the more he wanted to look away. The ( _please don't let it be blood_ ) stain on his chest stood out like a sore thumb, and there were tracks of dirt and snow that briefly made him wonder if Papyrus had been rolling on the ground too. Had he been in a fight? Wasn't he just training with Undyne? What the hell was she thinking, allowing him to get into danger like that?

  
  


Frisk bounded off the sofa and wrapped their arms around Papyrus's leg, and it was like watching all of the weariness be washed away in a single instant. Papyrus's face softened as he knelt a little to pick them up, swinging the giggling child around in a circle.

  
  


 

  
  


“Nyeh _heh heh_! Did you really miss the Great Papyrus that much, little Frisk?” he chuckled, carefully setting them back down on their feet. “I know that my company is wonderful, but-”

  
  


Papyrus froze as he looked them in the eyes, his whole face going immediately and utterly blank.

  
  


 

  
  


“... What happened to your eye?” Papyrus asked quietly. Sans felt like his soul had just been dipped in icy water.

  
  


“... I fell,” Frisk said almost silently after a moment.

  
  


“You fell,” he repeated numbly.

  
  


“I fell,” Frisk nodded once and looked away.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm sorry,” they flinched when Papyrus shifted his hand. “I'm sorry Papyrus, i-it won't happen again-”

  
  


Frisk froze when Papyrus's hand lingered over their eye.

  
  


“Yeesh. What did you fall on, a rock?” Papyrus frowned a little, patting them on the head.

  
  


“Um, a-a tree, actually.”

  
  


Papyrus tutted softly.

  
  


 

  
  


“Don't you worry about a thing,” he said gently, standing up straight. “Some good food should heal that up in a day or so. I'm going to make you an extra special batch of spaghetti!”

  
  


“You're awesome, Papyrus,” Frisk beamed toothily up at him.

  
  


“Nyeh. Well, yes. Of course I am,” he held a hand to his chest proudly. “See, Sans? Somebody knows coolness when they see it.”

  
  


“I would never imply you weren't awesome, bro,” Sans grinned sticking his hands in his pockets.

  
  


Papyrus froze again when he looked down at Frisk, and Sans cringed.

  
  


He'd gotten the jacket and forgotten to get their clothes in the wash.

  
  


 

  
  


“Kiddo and I stopped by Grillby's,” he said quickly. “Must have... gotten some ketchup on them.”

  
  


“That's an awful lot of ketchup...” Papyrus frowned deeply.

  
  


_Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god please Paps I don't know if I can fix this please just move on please please please god just move on-_

  
  


 

  
  


“So,” Sans clapped his hands together loudly, causing them both to glance in his direction. “Hey, Paps. Remember when you dragged this home?”

  
  


“Is-is that your record player?” Papyrus blinked, staring at him. “Sans, you haven't pulled that dirty old thing out in years.”

  
  


“I just figured I might show it off to the kiddo,” he nodded in Frisk's direction, motioning for them to take a look. They carefully drew closer as if they were afraid of it, tugging at their sleeves.

  
  


 

  
  


“... It's alright, Frisk,” Sans chuckled. “It's not gonna bite. Never seen a record player before?”

  
  


Frisk slowly shook their head, leaning over the device curiously.

  
  


Sans withdrew one of his few records from the box, one that wasn't too terribly scratched. It still amazed him that it had even survived long in the garbage dump, and yet here it was. He gently placed the large black record disc under the needle, fiddling with the side of the player before standing up straight as music began to drift out from it. Sans's grin grew at Frisk's expression, their eyes wide.

  
  


 

  
  


“May I have this dance?” Sans asked in what he hoped was a suave manner and held out his hand. Frisk eagerly held his outstretched hand in both of their small ones, grinning at him.

  
  


“Um... I-I don't really know... know how to dance,” Frisk shifted awkwardly.

  
  


“Don't worry 'bout it, kiddo,” he shook his head. He picked them up easily (had they always been so thin and light?) and helped them set their feet on top of his slippers, one hand on their shoulder and the other on the small of their back to keep them from falling. “I'll take the lead. Dancin' is easy peasy stuff. Just roll with it.”

  
  


“Oh my god I can't believe that Sans is actually dancing again,” Sans saw the humongous grin slowly spreading on Papyrus's face, and his cheeks heated a little in embarrassment. But if they could be happier, then he'd do it. “Stars help me, I would give my favorite arm for a camera right now.”

  
  


 

  
  


The familiar music drifted through the air as Sans smoothly swept his feet left and right, dancing in a small circle around the living room. Papyrus clapped along to the music, chortling to himself. Sans couldn't fight off the grin either, and Frisk looked somewhere between smiling and worrying. Were they really still scared of him? Sans gave an internal sigh, taking a deep breath.

  
  


 

  
  


“Fly me to the moon,” he sang quietly, but still loud enough to be heard as he sang along to the music. “Let me play among the stars; let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.”

  
  


He swung Frisk around in a circle, eliciting a giggle from them. The sound was like nectar and ambrosia for his soul.

  
  


“Come dance too, Papyrus!” Frisk nodded their head toward him with a huge grin. Papyrus only laughed and shook his head.

  
  


“In other words,” Sans rumbled in a low baritone to match the tones emanating from the scratchy record player. “Hold my hand. In other words, ba~by kiss me.”

  
  


Frisk laughed as he picked them up and gave them a little twirl, their giggling ringing in his head. Sans's smile grew wider than he thought he could smile as he watched Papyrus bob his head back and forth to the music, clapping in tune.

  
  


 

  
  


“Fill my heart with song, and let me sing – forever more,” Sans laughed aloud as Frisk stepped to the floor and spun in a little circle, still clinging to his hands and almost tripping in the process. “You are all I long for – all I worship, and adore.”

  
  


“Sing it Sans, sing it!” Papyrus cackled, shaking his head when Frisk motioned for him to join in yet again. The taller skeleton seemed perfectly content to watch and happily clap along.

  
  


“In other words...” Sans picked up Frisk and whirled them around him, delighting in the sound of their giddy laughter. “Please, be true...! In other words...”

  
  


He pressed his forehead to their, meeting their eyes.

  
  


“I love you.”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk's cheeks colored significantly and Sans laughed, giving the giggling Frisk another twirl. They hopped to the floor and eagerly pulled at Papyrus's gloved hand until he finally sighed and let himself be pulled to the center of the room. Frisk smiled up at him as they tried to follow the same dancing steps that Sans had shown them. They held their tongue sticking out in concentration as they spun around again, and Papyrus laughed again before eventually picking them up and swinging them around. Frisk whooped gleefully as Sans continued to sing along to the music, clapping his hands.

  
  


“Yeah, yeah! Now you've got it!” he laughed at the display. He was smiling so hard that his bony cheeks hurt, but he didn't even care. It didn't really matter, and that was perfectly fine by Sans. “Swing, baby, swing!”

  
  


 

  
  


_All of the surface, and the sun, and the moon, and all the stars in the night sky._

  
  


 

  
  


Maybe he couldn't give them all of that. Maybe he wouldn't even have to kill them this time.

  
  


But all that he could give, he silently swore that he would give, and give gladly.

  
  


What he did, and what he would do, he did only out of love.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	15. The Flower's Seed

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus was not necessarily a stealthy skeleton.

  
  


 

  
  


He hated that the stairs creaked with his every other step, but he continued down regardless as quietly as he could. It didn't seem like he was going to get any sleep tonight, either. He descended as softly as he could to prevent the stairs from creaking so loudly, but it did little to help. Frisk lay unmoving on the sofa, their back to him, and he let out a quiet sigh. They were wearing some of Sans's old clothes and were half covered by a blanket, but from the way they held their shoulders they looked a bit cold. He made a mental note to find them better blankets. Papyrus was quick to don his favorite scarf as he double checked his freshly cleaned battle body. Unfortunately, there appeared to be a small tear in the shoulder, which he tutted at. It required immediate attention, but he simply had too much to attend to.

  
  


 

  
  


“... P'pyrus?”

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus froze with his hand on the door knob, turning silently to the human. Their red eyes glinted in the dark, tracking his movement.

  
  


“It's just me,” Papyrus said in a whisper that came out louder than he intended. He strode over slowly and patted them amicably on the head, making sure to pull their blanket up around them to tuck them in properly. “ _Shh_. Go back to sleep, little one.”

  
  


“What's going on?” they asked uncertainly, trying to rub the sleep from their eyes.

  
  


“Just running some errands,” Papyrus lied immediately. He felt terrible about it, but it was necessary. His flower friend really didn't like others knowing about him. He rubbed them on the top of the head once more, as if the simple motion could put them back to sleep. “Get some rest, tiny human.”

  
  


 

  
  


They mumbled something incoherent and held his hand for a while, slowly retreating back to their lying position and closing their eyes with a weary sigh.

  
  


Papyrus shifted back and forth awkwardly.

  
  


 

  
  


They'd fallen asleep while they were still holding his hand.

  
  


Papyrus let out a quiet sigh through his teeth. A part of him didn't really want to let go. They didn't have that worried crease in their brow that they normally did. For once, they just looked... peaceful. He ran a hand over their head softly, making sure to slip out of their feeble grip and tuck them in. They whimpered something that he couldn't make out, but finally let go. Papyrus stared for a while longer, his chest beginning to ache.

  
  


_Be stronger. They need you._

  
  


 

  
  


He nodded to no one, briskly slipping out the front door and pulling his scarf a little tighter to ward off the night (it is night, right? We need a clock for the living room,) chill. Papyrus stomped through the snow with determination in his eye sockets.

  
  


It didn't take long to walk from one end of Snowdin to the other. He momentarily contemplated taking the icy tunnel beneath Snowdin to save himself some time, but considered against it. There were few monsters out and about. Papyrus waved cheerfully to a large bear monster reading a newspaper leaning against Grillby's front window. The bear gave an uninterested halfhearted wave back and immediately resumed reading his paper. Papyrus fought off the urge to sigh, instead putting more pep into his step. It wasn't enough to be confident, he had to look confident, too. But that could wait. Someday, people would be elated just to see him. Maybe not today. Maybe not in many years.

  
  


But someday.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus held his shoulders high and broad as he marched through Snowdin, bypassing several of the traps that he had laid for potential humans (and one human friend). He carefully made his way over a snowy outcropping, hopping through knee high underbrush without even losing stride. He continued to steadily make his way through vegetation frozen over and icicle coated pines, his breath coming out in steamy little bursts.

  
  


 

  
  


After what felt like an hour Papyrus finally reached the little clearing in the woods. It was perfectly circular and many trees around the cold meadow appeared to have been tipped over. It was very strange to Papyrus, as he couldn't think of anything that could have done such damage to the place. It almost felt like it was designed to be unsettling. At least, that was what he thought, as he most certainly felt unsettled every time he crept out to meet his friend. It disturbed him to think of what manner of creature might have left such terrible gashes in the trees.

  
  


 

  
  


“Howdy!” he heard the voice before he saw the yellow petals bursting up from a patch of snow. “Golly, you sure are taking a lot longer than usual, best buddy. Going for 'fashionably late' tonight, are we?”

  
  


“Sorry it took me so long, Flowey,” Papyrus kicked aside a bit of snow and ice and knelt before the flower, smiling. “How have you been, little friend?”

  
  


“The same as I always am, Papyrus,” Flowey responded with a little smile. Papyrus felt a little more uneasy at the sharpness of Flowey's teeth (how does a flower get teeth?) but stood his ground regardless.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Papyrus,” Flowey said eventually as Papyrus sat down cross legged on the ground before him. “Let me be frank with you for a moment-”

  
  


“I thought you were Flowey,” Papyrus blinked. “Who's Frank?”

  
  


Flowey's mouth opened and closed, his eyes narrowing to slits.

  
  


“Are... are you _messing_ with me right now?” Flowey asked quietly.

  
  


“Most certainly not, Flowey!” he responded chipperly. “I enjoy visiting you.”

  
  


“I think that would enjoy our little chats, too,” the flower said with a small smile. “If I could actually feel anything.”

  
  


Papyrus shifted uncomfortably again. There was always that little matter. Papyrus honestly didn't know what he could do to help his friend. It didn't help that Flowey was very vague on explaining how he could be alive without a soul. He felt so sorry for the poor creature. And even stranger, Papyrus sometimes felt as if he already knew that Flowey had explained it to him before. Again. And again. And again.

  
  


That peculiar sensation of de ja vu prickled almost every time that Flowey was around. Like there was something just plain wrong and he felt as if he were being stupid on purpose for not being able to recognize it for what it was.

  
  


Whatever it was, that is.

  
  


 

  
  


They sat in silence for a while. Flowey said nothing as they stared up at the stones in the ceiling.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I have been thinking.”

  
  


“Careful not to hurt yourself,” Flowey winked at him, sticking out his tongue.

  
  


“Earlier...” Papyrus tapped his fingers together, still staring upward. “I don't mean to pry, flower friend, but... did you really mean what you said?”

  
  


“About what, Papyrus?”

  
  


“About-about Frisk,” he continued awkwardly. “Is there something that I'm supposed to know?”

  
  


“Everyone has _secrets_ , Papyrus,” Flowey lifted a vine and inspected it closely as if it were far more interesting. “Your new 'friend' has more than a couple of skeletons in their closet.”

  
  


“I don't follow,” Papyrus blinked. “Do you mean me, or Sans? Because I don't think the closet is big enough for the both of us-”

  
  


“Papyrus!” Flowey gave that rehearsed giggle that made him almost flinch. “It's just a saying, don't take it so _literally_. Ah, you always were my favorite.”

  
  


“Well, you're my favorite too, Flowey!” Papyrus beamed at him, trying his hardest to relax. “Number one flower friend, top of the list. You should be honored.”

  
  


“Oh, golly,” he held a vine to his stem like he would a hand to his chest. “I feel so _privileged_.”

  
  


 

  
  


It was plain as day that he was joking, but Papyrus didn't mind. He had grown accustomed to the flower's somewhat strange mannerisms by this point.

  
  


 

  
  


“You know, Papyrus,” Flowey said conversationally as he stared up at him. “I've been watching you for a while.”

  
  


“That is both commendable and creepy,” Papyrus said without missing a beat. Flowey continued as if he didn't hear him.

  
  


“She's just messing with you, you know.”

  
  


Papyrus shifted awkwardly, uncertain of how to respond.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm... I'm afraid that I don't quite follow, Flowey.”

  
  


“I can't say I'm surprised,” the flower gave another rehearsed giggle. “But as your friend, I just thought I'd bring it up. Undyne has no intentions whatsoever of ever letting you be a real member of the royal guard.”

“That's not a very nice thing to say!” Papyrus frowned. “I'm practically already in the royal guard, just because-”

“Because what?” Flowey winked. “It's not 'official'? That you're an 'honorary member'? What a laugh,” he scoffed. “Fish face has been dead set against you joining ever since day one.”

  
  


“But-but – Flowey, these... these terrible things you're saying,” Papyrus crossed his arms, huddling a little over him. “Undyne would never do something like that. She just wants what's best for everyone.”

  
  


Instead of arguing, Flowey only winked and laughed again.

  
  


 

  
  


“How silly of me,” Flowey ruffled his petals. “Why, you're always right, Papyrus! How could I forget.”

  
  


“W-well, I don't know about always-”

  
  


“And _modest_ , too! Didn't you leave _any_ good qualities for your brother to have?”

  
  


“... _Excuse_ me,” Papyrus stiffened considerably. Flowey knew that he was walking a thin line, but he just couldn't help it. Not when he knew exactly what buttons to press. Watching the skeleton shift between emotions, the conflicting concern and uneasiness, the pride and irritation. It was just too entertaining.

  
  


Papyrus always had been his favorite toy.

  
  


 

  
  


“But I think we're getting off topic,” Flowey lifted a vine from the ground and rolled it like he would a hand. “We aren't here to chat about your greatness, I doubt you need another pep talk so soon. No, dear Papyrus, I think that it's time that you learned the truth about your new... _friend_.”

  
  


“I'm pretty sure that if they have something to tell me, then they will tell me in their own time...” Papyrus said loudly, unable to keep the aggravation out of his voice.

  
  


“What?” Flowey asked in a mock hurt tone. “You don't want to know the truth? You would rather live in ignorance of why they act the way that they do?”

  
  


“I already have a pretty good idea of what Frisk went through on the surface-”

  
  


Flowey _laughed_.

  
  


 

  
  


“Oh ho, no, _no_ Papyrus...” Flowey perked up a little, raising himself to head height to leer at him. “I'm not talking about silly old things that some _schmucks_ on the surface get up to. I'm talking about what your dear _brother_ did to them.”

  
  


 

  
  


It didn't matter whether or not Papyrus believed him immediately.

  
  


It didn't even matter or not he believed him at all.

  
  


 

  
  


All that mattered was that, deep in his mind, the seed of doubt had been sown. Before long it would blossom, and Flowey had full intention to tend to that dark seed as frequently as possible.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus really was his favorite toy.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans trundled down the stairs with a whistle.

  
  


 

  
  


Today might not be a good day. He couldn't even remember the last time that he'd had a 'good' day. But by god he was going to strive for one, at least once.

  
  


Or at the very least pretend that it was going to be a good day, whichever took the least amount of effort.

  
  


 

  
  


“Morning, Paps,” Sans yawned as he entered the kitchen, where Papyrus was steadily working on a batch of breakfast spaghetti with a wooden spoon in one hand. Hopefully the latest concoction didn't feature eggs this time. His shoulders were slightly stooped and the lines under his eye sockets were deeper than ever. He just looked so... tired.

  
  


Instead of answering or even responding much at all, Papyrus simply waved a hand halfheartedly at him without turning around. Sans shrugged it off, though not easily. He must have simply been too enticed with his cooking to pay proper attention.

  
  


Or greet him.

  
  


Or bother waking him up like usual.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Everything okay, Papyrus?” Sans asked quietly as he pulled a bottle of ketchup from the refrigerator. “You seem, uh... a little out of sorts.”

  
  


“Everything is fine brother,” Papyrus said in a terse tone without looking up.

  
  


“... Are you sure?” he stood next to the taller skeleton, twisting the ketchup bottle in his hands nervously. “You... you don't look so good, Paps. I'm serious.”

  
  


Papyrus took a long, slow deep breath through his nostril bone, closing his eyes for a few moments. And just like that the smile was plastered back on, and it hurt Sans to see just how strained it was.

  
  


 

  
  


“Just had a... bit of a rough night,” Papyrus gently placed one hand on his shoulder. “Why don't you go wake up Frisk and we'll have some breakfast? I even made coffee.”

  
  


Sans silently noted that it appeared as if half of the pot had already been emptied, which was even more concerning. Papyrus and coffee did not sound like a good mix, but he wordlessly agreed and trudged to the living room, scraping his slippers across the floor.

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk was lying with their back to him, and he quietly nudged them with one foot. There again was that bizarre sensation of de ja vu, but he ignored it. There was too much on his mind already.

  
  


“Hey. Munchkin.”

  
  


Frisk didn't move.

  
  


Sans sighed and leaned over them a little, repeating himself and shaking them gently by the shoulder.

  
  


 

  
  


Their eyes bolted open at his touch, red orbs darting wildly back and forth, mouth hanging open in a silent terrified scream as they tried to bury themselves into the back of the couch as they hid their face with their arms.

  
  


 

  
  


“E-easy, easy!” Sans tried to keep his tone low and calm as he held a hand to still their shaking shoulders. “Easy there, buddy. Just-just me. It's just Sans.”

  
  


They peeked fearfully from behind their arms, eyes wide.

  
  


Brown eyes.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You okay there, Frisk?” Sans asked quietly, petting their head with a couple of soft scratches to their scalp. “Looked like you saw a ghost. Or, y'know. A skeleton.”

  
  


Frisk didn't laugh, but they did manage a partial wry grin. They were still trembling a little, gripping tightly onto their left hand like they were afraid it might fall off.

  
  


“We slept in a little late today,” Sans continued as they sat up, rubbing their eyes. “No sentry duty today. But there's still no rest for the wicked, and we're sure as hell no saints. So what d'you wanna do today, kiddo?”

  
  


Frisk blinked, looking at something past him before glancing back, uncertain.

  
  


 

  
  


“What do you mean?” Frisk hid a yawn behind one hand.

  
  


“What d'you mean, 'what do you mean'?” Sans grinned. “I just, you know, figured we could do somethin' fun today. I dunno. Maybe you, me and Paps could all go fishing or something. I know this great little spot in Waterfall that you might like.”

  
  


“Can we?” Frisk perked up a little. “When can we go? Is it nearby? Are there lots of fish? Can-”

  
  


“Easy, kiddo,” Sans laughed, standing up straight. “What do you say we grab some grub first? Papyrus made breakfast. You like coffee?”

  
  


Frisk stuck their tongue out, and he chuckled again.

  
  


“Hey, don't knock it till ya try it.”

  
  


“Do I have to try it...?” Frisk looked at him with a slight frown.

  
  


“'Course not. Just leaves more for me,” he winked. Sans helped them stand and they straightened their borrowed clothes, yawning again. Sans started to turn and caught a flash of red in the doorway before it was gone. He felt as if he'd been struck with an electric jolt.

  
  


 

  
  


Why had Papyrus been watching him like that?

  
  


 

  
  


If he had hair, it would be standing on end. There again was that awful feeling of having too few puzzle pieces to put everything together. Something wasn't right. He hoped intently that Papyrus really hadn't slept well and it was taking its toll on him, and as terrible as something like that was to hope for, it was better than the alternative.

  
  


 

  
  


Breakfast was painfully silent.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sipped wordlessly at his coffee as Frisk tore hungrily through an entire plate of spaghetti. Papyrus did perk up considerably when they even asked for seconds, which was a huge relief to Sans. He didn't think that he could take much more of silent Papyrus. His brother's gaze was set on his plate almost the entire time. No speaking, no glancing up, not even the usual small talk or plans for the day.

  
  


It was, for lack of a better word, utterly disturbing.

  
  


 

  
  


“So,” Sans said after a long while, twirling his coffee cup through his phalanges before collecting plates to drop into the sink. “You got any plans for the weekend, Paps?”

  
  


“I'll be training with Undyne this morning,” he answered quietly, folding his hands across one another. “I should be back within a few hours. Unless you'd like to take up the offer to train with us for once,” Papyrus added hopefully.

  
  


“C'mon, bro, you know I'm way too lazy for that,” Sans shrugged, albeit a little guiltily. “I'm just gonna show the kiddo around the rest of Snowdin while you're busy flexin' muscles with Undyne. Or, lack thereof, I mean.”

  
  


“Har de har,” Papyrus said blankly. Sans flinched deeply, and Papyrus let out a breath and shook his head.

  
  


“You... wanna go fishing with us later?” Sans asked quietly. “I swear I'm not bringing cards this time. No jokin', actual fishing poles this time.”

  
  


“That would be a relief, because trying to fish with cards would have failed spectacularly,” Papyrus rubbed his chin with one gloved hand.

  
  


 

  
  


“So... that's a yes?” Frisk asked cheerfully, kicking their legs back and forth.

  
  


“I don't see why not!” Papyrus seemed to finally regain some of his eagerness, to which more than a small part of Sans was overjoyed to see. “We haven't gone fishing in ages, it'll be fun! Nyeh heh, we can even make a picnic out of it.”

  
  


“Are we bringing spaghetti for the picnic?” Sans asked, propping his head up on one hand.

  
  


“Sans, don't be ridiculous,” Papyrus shook his head. “Of course we're bringing spaghetti, what else does someone bring on a picnic?”

  
  


“I dunno. Potato salad?”

  
  


“That sounds absolutely disgusting,” he scowled. “You can't make salad out of potatoes. Can-can you?”

  
  


“Not entirely sure, bro. I've never tried.”

  
  


“I wonder if you can make spaghetti into a salad...” Papyrus steepled his fingers together. For some reason, Frisk cringed. Sans was glad at least he wasn't the only one who didn't like the idea of spaghetti salad.

  
  


 

  
  


And more importantly, who would be forced to taste test it when Papyrus inevitably tried making it.

  
  


But that didn't seem all that important to Sans at the moment.

  
  


Papyrus was picking up more steam as he ran through a list of ingredients that they would need to try out the 'potentially groundbreaking' new recipe. Frisk even gave him suggestions, absolutely none of which were helpful in any way.

  
  


However, Papyrus did seem to like the idea of topping it off with monster candy, and if it made Papyrus happy then Sans was more than willing to shrug and roll with it. Maybe today wouldn't be as good as he hoped. Maybe tomorrow wouldn't, either. Maybe not even the day after that.

  
  


 

  
  


But someday.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	16. Questions

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


_I can do this._

  
  


_I can do this._

  
  


_I think I can keep going today._

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus marched through the swampy water with his hanging head full of thoughts that he didn't particularly care to acknowledge. The soft stomping that sent ripples through the water hardly phased him at all as he pressed on. He barely even made time for the bridge seed puzzle, his mind was so preoccupied. His head felt heavy, his bones felt like they were about to fall apart, and his legs felt like leaded weights, but he pressed on regardless.

  
  


 

  
  


_Keep pushing. Don't stop. As long as it hurts, then you're still alive._

  
  


 

  
  


Was that what the feeling in his chest was? Just being alive?

  
  


At this rate, he didn't particularly care for the feeling.

  
  


 

  
  


_I'm talking about what your dear brother did to them._

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus pushed harder, forcing his mind to clear as he pressed ahead. Undyne's house wasn't too far away, he just had to keep up the pace. Then again, he was very likely to simply keep running and go in a circle before approaching her house, just as he had done for the last few times. Eventually however, he had to stop putting it off and see her for training. He was early, as he always was, but if he kept avoiding it then he would surely be late, and he could imagine few things worse than that.

  
  


Papyrus finally came to a halt in front of the little pond, grasping his knees and heaving. His chest was burning, his legs felt like gelatin and his vision was swimming, but at long last his mind was mercifully clear.

  
  


 

  
  


He stared down at his reflection in the crystal water for a long while, simply slowing his breathing. Papyrus ran a single gloved hand down the side of his face, meeting his eye sockets and staring. The lines beneath his eyes were worse than ever, his face felt haggard and weary, and his back and shoulders felt almost permanently stooped from the way it hurt to stand straight. In short, he looked absolutely terrible.

  
  


Papyrus took a long moment to kneel and wash his face in the icy water. When that seemingly failed, he instead dunked his whole head in the pond. He coughed and spluttered as he dragged his head back up, shaking water off like a dog. He took huge gulps of air and rubbed his face, as if he could wash out the exhaustion. The unsettling expression remained on his features though, and he frowned to see the look on his face. He instead closed his eyes and let out a quiet sigh through his teeth, letting the calming atmosphere sooth him. He couldn't quite tell, but it almost sounded as if someone were playing a music box somewhere far away.

  
  


 

  
  


He wasn't certain of how long he had been sitting, but when it finally occurred to him he jolted up and bolted in the direction of Undyne's house.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus skidded to a halt outside Undyne's front door, greeted by the sound of wafting piano music. It sounded stilted, like she was only half playing. He considered this briefly before drawing himself up and knocking. It really would be easier to tell time if he'd just get a watch.

  
  


 

  
  


It was silent for a few painfully long moments, but eventually Undyne arrived at the door, peeking out to see him.

  
  


“Oh!” she seemed surprised, blinking and widening her one eye as well as the door just a bit. “Uh. H-hey. Hey Paps,” she said without opening the door all the way. “What are you doing here so early?”

  
  


“I'm... here? For training?” he balked. “What do you mean? Is that a trick question? Wait, wait, am I being _tested_?” Papyrus tried to fight the tide of panic. “I didn't know there was a _test_ , should I have been studying-?!”

  
  


“Papyrus – _Paps_ ,” Undyne gave a nervous half laugh, rubbing her arm awkwardly. She wore a heavy jacket over her favorite tank top, though for what Papyrus had no idea. “There's no test. Everything is fine.”

  
  


“Oh, good,” Papyrus let out a heavy breath, running a gloved hand over his head. “Because even though I am obviously ultra prepared in absolutely everything, I must admit that royal guard tests haven't necessarily been in the forefront of my thoughts. I am completely prepared for training though!”

  
  


 

  
  


Undyne looked extremely uncomfortable for a moment, checking something behind her before turning back to him, drawing the door a little closer. It almost sounded as if there was someone else aside from Undyne in her house, but he couldn't see.

  
  


“... Hey, why-why don't we just, uh... skip training for today?”

  
  


 

  
  


If Papyrus had ears, he would have been cleaning them out.

  
  


“... Undyne, is everything okay?” he asked in alarm. “You never want to skip training, what's going on?”

  
  


“Nothing is going on!” she said with a too wide grin. “I just, uh... y'know.” she shrugged.

  
  


Papyrus clearly did _not_ know, and it bothered him supremely.

  
  


 

  
  


“Is everything alright?” Papyrus leaned a little closer, crossing his arms. “You're acting very strangely, Undyne. Are you unwell?”

  
  


“No, no, I just-” Undyne checked behind her once again before turning back to him, letting out a sigh. “I've just got, uh, guests. It's kinda private.”

  
  


“Oh!” Papyrus blinked, nodding immediately. “Why didn't you just say so, Undyne? I can come back later today-”

  
  


“It's cool, Papyrus!” Undyne said with no small amount of relief. Again she resumed rubbing her arm gingerly, and the sinking feeling in his stomach rose once again. “Just consider today a free day, 'cause you're gonna train your bony butt right off tomorrow morning-”

  
  


“How is your shoulder, Undyne?”

  
  


She froze.

  
  


 

  
  


“... That's about what I thought,” Papyrus said softly. A hot wash of shame at the pain he had caused her rose into his face, and she shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly. Maybe that wound had been more than a 'scratch' after all.

  
  


“It's not a big deal,” she answered quietly, even though he felt as if it most certainly was a big deal. “Just... forget all about it, okay? I'll be at peak condition in no time. I don't want you slacking off, because I don't even _need_ my arms to kick your keister. You got that?”

  
  


Papyrus let out a too loud laugh and shook his head.

  
  


“Of course, Undyne.”

  
  


“ _Captain_ Undyne,” she corrected him. “We've gotta get you prepped for the royal guard, so might as well get used to it.”

  
  


“You got it, Captain!” he said with a salute.

  
  


“On second thought, just call me Undyne,” she chuckled and shook her head. Just before she closed the door, Papyrus caught a very strange glimpse of her giving her 'guest' a peculiar, sad nod. He pretended that he hadn't seen it and took in a deep breath, running a hand over his head as he walked. And then he kept going in circles.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


So, all of that nervousness and panicking had mostly been for... nothing. If anything, Papyrus just felt even more lost and confused than before, and a little silly for worrying himself sick. But that was his fault. _Useless, silly skeleton._ He was tired, and worn out as if he really had spent all morning training, but more than that, he just felt exhausted mentally, physically, emotionally, every sense of the word. He finally dropped into a cross legged position beside the rectangular pond that he had stopped at before, staring into the water with his hands folded in his lap. Meditation usually helped just a bit.

  
  


Though at the moment, he felt as though a hundred years of meditation wouldn't quite be enough.

  
  


 

  
  


He had so, so many questions, and so few answers.

  
  


It was like trying to put a puzzle together, except all of the pieces were from different puzzles. It gave him a headache. He rubbed his temples and sighed, going over his training and evening his breathing.

  
  


“ _Howdy!”_

  
  


Papyrus groaned inwardly.

  
  


 

  
  


“Hello, Flowey,” Papyrus said without looking up from the water. He didn't even need to, as the flower had surfaced directly beside him in the patchy earth, looking into his reflection as well. “How are you today?”

  
  


“Aw, shucks, you don't have to worry about me, best buddy!” Flowey stuck out his tongue. Papyrus watched the expression with a strange feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite fight down. “But forget about me, let's talk about _you_.”

  
  


“I'd rather not. I'm sorry, Flowey, but-” Papyrus started, unable to quite bring himself to stand just yet. “-I don't think now is the best time.”

  
  


“Aww, for shame. Feeling a little _guilty_?” Flowey tilted over towards his leg, grinning at him. “Golly! You sure did a number on _fish face_ , huh?”

  
  


Papyrus cringed openly, wiping a hand down his face to hide the look. Flowey had already seen though, and he let out yet another sigh.

  
  


 

  
  


“Captain Undyne is fine,” Papyrus said a bit too forcefully. “She's-she's just... _busy_ right now.”

  
  


“Oh, _man_ ,” Flowey bounced a little on his stem eagerly. “You would absolutely _flip_ if you knew what she was really up to.”

  
  


“Then I think I'd rather not know,” Papyrus answered in a deadpan.

  
  


“Is that _really_ the way that you want to live your life?” Flowey asked with a smirk as he slowly extended out of the ground until he was a little higher than head height with him. “Living in total _ignorance_ of everything and everyone around you? Come on, best pal. We _both_ know that's not true.”

  
  


“Flowey,” he started quietly, looking over at him. “Do you ever get the feeling that you don't really know what the truth is anymore?”

  
  


Flowey only gave one of his rehearsed little titters.

  
  


 

  
  


“Every single day, Papyrus...” Flowey grinned widely. “You always were my _favorite_ , you know. No matter what, you just keep going. How do you manage it, Papyrus?”

  
  


“They need me to,” he said simply, looking back to the water. “I... I have to be stronger,” Papyrus continued, uncertain of why he would even share that with Flowey. Maybe he just needed to get it out.

  
  


Flowey _tsked_ a couple of times, shaking his petals.

  
  


“You could be king, you know,” Flowey said matter of factly.

  
  


“Sorry, what?” Papyrus blinked.

  
  


“You could be king,” he repeated as if it were obvious. “I could help you. I could make you the king of the entire Underground.”

  
  


“I prefer our current king,” Papyrus answered promptly. “He is very nice.”

  
  


Flowey laughed again, but this time it was colder, darker. He sounded so... bitter.

  
  


 

  
  


“He's very nice. _Nice_ ,” Flowey shook his head. “Oh, man. Papyrus, you really _do_ have no idea.”

  
  


“I for one think that he's a _darned_ good king...” Papyrus crossed his arms. “Have you seen his flower garden? He takes very good care of it. You might even like it there.”

  
  


“Ew, why?” Flowey scowled. “Because I'm a flower?”

  
  


“No, because it's rather peaceful and calming and you seem to be in a bad mood.”

  
  


Flowey tittered again.

  
  


 

  
  


“I don't have _moods_ , Papyrus,” Flowey stared up at him. “I don't have _emotions_. Remember? I can't feel anything.”

  
  


“So you've told me...” Papyrus said again, looking deep into the water. “And yet, it appears that you can still feel things like annoyance and irritation. So maybe there is hope for you that you can feel other things, too!”

  
  


“I don't get how you stay so hopeful, Papyrus,” the flower said quietly, looking away. “If you knew the truth; the real truth, all of it... well. You would be a completely different person. Who knows? The truth might even _break_ you,” he continued with a knowing smirk. “Once you learn the truth, you can't ever, ever go back. Not really. It sort of _burns_ its way into your soul, you know. There are some things that can stain your soul _forever_.”

  
  


 

  
  


They were silent for a while. Papyrus could live with that.

  
  


Sometimes Flowey invited him out in the night just so that they could sit together in quiet and enjoy the atmosphere. It wasn't an odd occurrence. This, however, felt different. It was like Flowey was just on the verge of telling him something important, something that could fit all of the puzzle pieces together properly. And yet, simultaneously he felt as if somewhere deep down, he already knew the answer to a question that he hadn't asked. It was strange, to say the least. Papyrus brushed off the feeling and tried to clear his mind to no avail, letting out a quiet sigh through his nostril bone. He glanced over to Flowey to finally ask what he really wanted to, but his friend was already long since gone.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus returned his gaze to the water.

  
  


Maybe, just maybe, Flowey was right.

  
  


Maybe it was time that he started asking the right questions.

  
  


 

  
  


Even if it broke him.

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	17. For Every Action, There Exists Consequence

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Against all logical thought, Sans was actually beginning to miss the silence just a little.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Nyeh_ , no, no, no, that's not right,” Papyrus stood next to Frisk with a fishing pole in one hand. “Like this, see? Stand just like this little one, with your feet spread evenly and the pole extended... grip the base, both hands... Yes, just like that!”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sat with his back to the stony wall with his fishing pole stuck lazily in the ground next to him, his line undisturbed the as of yet, which was fine by him. Frisk constantly shifted from foot to foot next to Papyrus as they shuffled through the short damp grass, looking excitedly back and forth between their line and the taller skeleton the entire time. The picnic basket lay mostly untouched as well, as even Papyrus hadn't particularly cared for his 'masterwork' spaghetti salad. Frisk had just eaten the candy off the top, and he wasn't particularly surprised by that. He thought about telling them to try standing still to avoid scaring off the fish, but resisted against it. He couldn't really care less whether or not they caught any fish.

  
  


 

  
  


It was just nice to see them smiling for once. God that was a weird thought.

  
  


Sans closed his eyes after a while of listening to Papyrus and Frisk chatter about what constituted as 'correct' fish catching technique. There again was that strange feeling in the pit of his chest that he couldn't quite identify, but he brushed it off as well. The echo flowers not far away murmured a lullaby to him in words that he couldn't quite make out. He slowly drifted away into a hazy rest, his eye sockets flickering open every now and then to ensure that they were both still where he could see them. So long as he could just keep his eye sockets barely open long enough to-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


\- _fight back against them, maybe they would just get bored of dying over and over again. It was a vain hope and he knew it, but at this point it was the only hope that he had left. They had to stop at some point or another. They just had to. Everyone had a breaking point._

  
  


_Sans was fairly sure that he'd already long since passed his._

  
  


 

  
  


_He stood over their shattered body once again, hands deep in his jacket pockets. He'd lost count of how many times they'd forced him to do this. He was tempted to simply go back home by this point, but the idea of pressing open the front door to a completely empty house seemed somehow even more terrifying than facing down whatever the hell this thing was that apparently had a severe murder boner for monsters. They twitched and shuddered even though the conjured femur had pierced their sternum, their shoulder, their legs; clearly he was going to have to step up his game if he was ever going to convince them to stop coming back._

  
  


_And then what?_

  
  


 

  
  


_Almost everyone was gone._

  
  


_Papyrus was gone._

  
  


 

  
  


_And it was all their fault._

  
  


 

  
  


_Sans took in a deep breath through his teeth, kneeling a little in front of the human._

  
  


“ _So,” he said eventually, his voice much quieter than he intended. “It appears that we have come to an impasse, buddy.”_

  
  


_They coughed up blood in response. On the upside, if they reset again then at least he wouldn't have to get new slippers._

  
  


“ _S-S-Sans, p-please...!” they were reaching out to him with their unbroken arm, gasping and wheezing with their last breaths._

  
  


“ _S-Sans, puh-puh-puhlease!” he spat mockingly. “I don't really wanna keep doing this, you know,” Sans admitted softly. “But it's only gonna get worse for you. Every time that you come back, it's gonna be worse. You got that, brat? I won't just stop at dunking your ass. I will wreck and damage and ruin and_ DEFILE you _until you learn-” he stood a little straighter, the anger coming out plain in his voice. “-that your ACTIONS have – fucking – CONSEQUENCES!”_

  
  


 

  
  


_The sound of the blaster humming behind him overwhelmed whatever they were desperately trying to tell him, but it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered. Not anymore._

  
  


_Maybe it never did._

  
  


_He finally glanced up to look into their tear filled brown eyes-_

  
  


 

  
  


_\- and oh god what was he doing it was Frisk, he was hurting Frisk he couldn't even hear them begging for mercy with their last breath as they were vaporized by the blaster, his own screaming unheard as he watched his child be forcibly ripped apart atom by atom and the screaming oh stars the god awful SCREAMING that he couldn't tell was his or not it didn't matter it was Frisk not human not creature not anomaly it was his little Frisk and what kind of sick vile creature was he that he couldn't help but keep screaming and he could hear HIM laughing, mocking him, delighting in his suffering just like he always did behind that smug smirk and all he wanted was to turn the blaster on that demented bastard-_

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“-ns! Sans, _calm down_ , it's just me!”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt like he had been pulled hundreds of miles down from the stratosphere and slammed back into reality. His bones felt clammy and weak, he was definitely sweating and he was rattling so hard that it took every fiber of his being to stop shaking, and even that wasn't enough. It took him longer than he'd have liked to forcibly remind himself that he was in the real world, that Papyrus was unharmed, that Frisk was okay, that he wasn't there again.

  
  


 

  
  


“... 'sup, Paps?” Sans tried to ask casually, sticking his trembling hands back into his pockets.

  
  


“Are you alright, brother?” Papyrus knelt a little next to him worriedly. Frisk was wide eyed and holding their pole in front of them vertically, almost like they were trying to hide behind it. Sans stared for a moment and couldn't help but chuckle, closing his eyes for a moment before standing and rubbing his aching back from sitting against the stone wall for so long.

  
  


“Yeah. I'm fine, Paps,” Sans answered quietly, the tinge of disgust from the lie on his tongue. “Sorry. Just a bad dream.”

  
  


“This is hardly the time for a nap!” Papyrus frowned even through his relief, patting him on the shoulders protectively. “You already nap throughout the entire night, for crying out loud! Don't you do anything other than sleep?”

  
  


“I try not to,” he shrugged with a little grin, noting silently that at last he'd made Frisk giggle. They tried to hide it behind their hand, which somehow just made him just a bit happier.

  
  


“ _Augh_! I don't know why I bother,” Papyrus threw up his hands (and fishing pole) before stomping over to collect the picnic basket and blanket. “This entire venture was a bust, anyway.”

  
  


“You guys didn't catch any fish either?” Sans blinked.

  
  


“I caught four fishies!” Frisk proclaimed proudly, holding up their fingers.

  
  


“Okay. Where are they?”

  
  


“I... let them go...” they kicked at a bit of dirt awkwardly, looking away. Sans only chuckled and shook his head.

  
  


 

  
  


“What 'bout you, Paps?” Sans pried as the taller skeleton collected their belongings in his arms. “You manage to catch anything?”

  
  


“Well, I tried very hard, but they just wouldn't take the bait.”

  
  


“Can't say I blame 'em,” he shrugged with a wink to Frisk. “I don't particularly care for the taste of worms, either.”

  
  


“Worms?” Papyrus scoffed. “As if. Fish obviously just don't know good spaghetti when they see it.”

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus was not necessarily pleased with Sans's hysterical peals of laughter.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


It was a relatively quiet night, for which Sans was supremely grateful.

  
  


 

  
  


They had a large helping of Papyrus's spaghetti salad leftovers (though Frisk never saw Sans once take a bite, his plate was still mysteriously empty at the end) and Frisk picked out one of the many Mettaton movies (starring Mettaton) about a robot (Mettaton) falling in love with a supposedly handsome duplicate (also Mettaton). He felt a weight on his side as Frisk slowly began to fall asleep between the skeletons, but he didn't disturb them. They just seemed too happy for him to wake them. He wasn't even sure he'd seen them smile that much when they were awake, let alone falling asleep.

  
  


Sans sat with one of his hands in his jacket pockets on one end of the couch with his eye sockets half lidded the entire time, gently stroking their hair with his other. Every time that he looked at them, they just seemed so small, so thin, so frail. Hopefully with time, with good food and good friends, they would start to look a little healthier. What a bizarre thought, actually wishing the little creature well. It made him a tad warmer in the chest to know that they at least looked a bit better than they did before. Not much... but a little. That was good. Maybe soon he would finally work up the courage to speak to the lady behind the door in Snowdin forest again and finally admit that he had actually been doing as she'd asked. He wondered briefly just how much she knew of the human if she had asked him to watch out for them, even though they'd technically never even seen each other. It took a lot of trust on her part, and he respected that. But that could wait for later. For now, he was... well, not exactly good. But okay.

  
  


And that, he could live with.

  
  


 

  
  


It was a long while before he finally realized that the movie had been over for a while. He glanced over to see Frisk cuddled up beneath a blanket with their head on his legs. The strange feeling in his chest was back, that warm, delightfully light little glow that he couldn't identify.

  
  


Was it... contentment?

  
  


He honestly couldn't tell.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans.”

  
  


He blinked at the sound of his brother's surprisingly low voice, glancing over to the other end of the couch. Papyrus had an odd expression on his face, his features flickering in the dim light from the television.

  
  


“What's up, bro?” Sans answered quietly. Papyrus was staring at him all the while, and it was beginning to make him a little uneasy from the unblinking gaze.

  
  


“Sans, I-” Papyrus started uncomfortably, shifting slowly so as not to wake Frisk. He closed his mouth several times, eventually folding his hands in his lap and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, letting out a slow, quiet sigh. “Sans. I feel as though I need to ask you something.”

  
  


“Okay?” Sans resisted the urge to close his heavy eye sockets. “What is it? You okay?”

  
  


Papyrus stared at him fully, and Sans suddenly began to sweat.

  
  


 

  
  


He'd seen that look before.

  
  


The look of someone who, despite all logic, just knows. Because of course he would know oh god he'd fucked up so irreparably badly, every action had a consequence and he absolutely _could not know._

  
  


And the thought of Papyrus knowing...

  
  


He had to fight the intense, overwhelming urge to force a reset-

  
  


 

  
  


Sans fought off the train of thought, focusing intently on the taller skeleton.

  
  


“Sans...” Papyrus began slowly. “Have-have you ever... I mean, did you... I-I mean, of course you didn't, but just in case you _did_...”

  
  


“'Pyrus?” he asked softly, his chest and throat suddenly feeling very tight.

  
  


“Did-did you...?” Papyrus started again, only to run a hand slowly down his face with a heavy sigh. “Nyeh. You know what? It's really not important. You-you wouldn't lie to me, Sans.”

  
  


“What?” Sans broke out fully in a cold sweat. “Of-of course not, bro.”

  
  


“The little one...” Papyrus said again after a while. “Frisk. You... you wouldn't _hurt_ Frisk, right?”

  
  


“What?!” he blanched nervously. “I- no! No, god no, of c-course not!”

  
  


 

  
  


_Dirty liar._

  
  


_Reset._

  
  


_Filth._

  
  


_Reset._

  
  


_Freak._

  
  


_RESET._

  
  


_Abomination._

  
  


_RESET RESET RESET RESET RESET RESET RESET-!_

  
  


 

  
  


“That is good,” his brother looked away for a moment., his gaze softening as he looked down at the sleeping child. “I just... thought I'd ask.”

  
  


“W-why would you even think that, bro?” Sans asked through a plastered smile, hating himself a little more with each passing moment.

  
  


Papyrus didn't answer immediately, which only served to make the clawing guilt even more ferocious.

  
  


 

  
  


“Frisk is...” Papyrus interlocked his gloved fingers, head bowed a little. “They're a good person. I can see how much that is to them, how very hard they try. Some people... well. They don't really try. Maybe they just don't have anyone to point them in the right direction. But Frisk is... different. They've been hurt so, so _terribly_. To think that anyone would-”

  
  


He choked for a moment, wiping a hand over his eye sockets for a moment and letting out an unsteady breath. “I can... see how scared they are. All the time. They're downright _terrified_ , and it-it kills me to see them so afraid. I only wish I knew what they were _afraid_ of. Is-is it _my_ fault?” Papyrus asked eventually, turning back to him worriedly. “What am I doing _wrong_ , Sans?”

  
  


“B-bro,” Sans said eventually, his chest feeling painfully tight. “You haven't done _anything_ wrong, 'Pyrus. You're, like, the best person that I know. Hell, you're probably the best person in the whole freakin' Underground!”

  
  


Papyrus didn't respond for an uncomfortably long few moments, eventually closing his eye sockets and letting out a long, drawn out sigh. When he reopened his eye sockets Sans saw that his focus seemed a million miles away, and the look on his face was so worn, so... _pained_.

  
  


He felt like his soul was cracking just watching Papyrus sink.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Listen,” Sans said eventually, not even paying attention that he'd stopped petting Frisk's head or how still he'd become. “Papyrus. Please, please _listen_ to me, because I'm tellin' nothing but the truth here. It's... it's not your _fault_ , okay? You're probably the best thing for the kid in the whole world. They practically worship the ground you walk on,” he added quietly, looking down to the sleeping child. “You remember the way their face lit up when you made that spiffy jacket for 'em? Every time you walk in the room, they get a little bit more cheerful. So don't think that you're anything but _good_ , Paps. Because you're not just good, you're the _best_. Always have been,” he added with a small smile, and this one at least felt genuine. “You've always been better th-”

  
  


“ _Don't,”_ Papyrus said suddenly. Sans blinked, looking over to him. “Don't _do_ that to yourself, Sans. You don't have to put yourself down trying to make me feel better. You're... you're the best brother that anyone could ever ask for, Sans.”

  
  


 

  
  


They sat in relative silence for a while, the darkness flickering around them in the dim light of the television screen.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm... I'm going to bed, Sans,” Papyrus said after a little bit of silence. He placed his palm on Sans's shoulder briefly, giving him a soft, kind smile. “I'll see you in the morning. Alright?”

  
  


Sans could only nod curtly, as he didn't trust himself to speak.

  
  


For the first time in his life, Sans was actually glad to see Papyrus go.

  
  


 

  
  


At least that way he wouldn't see him bawling his eyes out.

  
  


 

  
  


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	18. Misery Loves Company

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Sans wasn't quite certain of how long he'd been sitting in the dark.

  
  


 

  
  


It had to have been several long, quiet hours. He even popped in a couple more of Mettaton's movies, although he didn't bother watching them. He and Papyrus had already seen them quite a few times. Sans had actually seen all of them so many times that he could easily quote some of them, though not nearly to the level that Papyrus could, even though he had seen them so many more times. It didn't matter. He didn't like Mettaton, but spending time with Papyrus just doing anything was fine by him. He just wanted background noise to fall asleep to.

  
  


 

  
  


Sleep was something that obviously wasn't going to come to him tonight, either.

  
  


Sans stroked Frisk's hair for a while, subtly shifting them aside to swap out old movies now and then. At some point Frisk began murmuring in their sleep when he stopped, letting out a low, quiet whimper. He almost didn't hear it he was so lost in thought, and his chest ached to see their brows furrowed in pain. He didn't care, they couldn't make him. He didn't. And yet... Sans worriedly pressed his palm down on their head, applying just enough pressure to still them, to hopefully help, to let them know that though whatever dream they were having they weren't alone. Their expression shifted a little bit after a while, finally relaxing enough to allow them to slumber more deeply.

  
  


 

  
  


But of course, they weren't really alone, even when they were.

  
  


There was always the matter of this 'Chara'.

  
  


 

  
  


A frown settled across his face firmly. It was more than an irritation, it made his marrow boil to think of that brat pushing around _his_ kid. His Frisk, _his_ anomaly. Another entity living in Frisk, the child with the red eyes. Sans let out a sigh through his teeth, thinking. They weren't his, he was acting crazy. That other one just bothered him.That was, though, if Chara even really was a separate entity at all. That particular thought was a relatively haunting one. What if Chara was just another personality of Frisk's?

  
  


Was hating Chara just a method of hating Frisk?

  
  


 

  
  


He looked down at the child curled up next to him on the couch, and his expression softened. He wasn't entirely certain that he even had it in him to be angry at Frisk anymore, let alone _hate_ them. At least, he hoped not. He hated a lot of things. He hated the taste of anchovies. He hated the thought of them being hurt. He hated resets.

  
  


But he honestly couldn't bring himself to really hate them, even if he tried.

  
  


And besides, that would imply that he would try, and that was, quite frankly, just too much effort.

  
  


 

  
  


He started to rise after a while, blinking the weariness from his eye sockets. He didn't make it completely off the couch before he realized that Frisk still had an iron grip on the hem of his jacket. He thought about subtly slipping their fingers off and heavily debated simply flopping back down onto the sofa and hoping that sleep might actually come tonight before he realized that they were staring sleepily at him, their eyes half lidded.

  
  


“Sans?” they mumbled blearily.

  
  


“Hey buddy,” he said softly, petting them on the head again and stroking their cheek. “Don't worry, just me. Go back to sleep, alright?”

  
  


“Okay, Sans...” Frisk said through a yawn, but didn't release him.

  
  


“... Kiddo.”

  
  


“ _Please_ ,” they looked... scared? Hurt? He couldn't tell. “Please, Sans. Don't... don't go. Please...?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans forced a plastic grin, silently noting that his resolve was steadily crumbling.

  
  


“Not goin' anywhere, babybones,” Sans ran his thumb over their forehead. He was going to ditch them the first chance he got. “Get some rest. Okay?”

  
  


“O-okay, Sans...” Frisk agreed after a long, drawn out moment. He only hoped that they'd bought his boldfaced lie. “I-I just...”

  
  


“What is it, buddy?” Sans slowly caved in and sat back down next to them, careful not to disturb them much as he pulled their blanket a little more around them, drawing it up to tuck them in.

  
  


“I'm sorry,” they said through another little yawn. “I don't... I don't wanna be alone.”

  
  


“You're not alone, Frisky-bits,” he chuckled. They held out a hand to him again, and he met it with his own. Their touch was so gentle, so soft, so warm.

  
  


 

  
  


_How in the hell are these the same hands that were covered in my brother's dust-?_

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans?”

  
  


He blinked, not even having realized that the lights in his eye sockets had gone out momentarily. He tried to force himself to relax, steadying his breathing.

  
  


“It's nothing, kiddo...” Sans rubbed their hand with his thumb, drawing small, tiny circles over their palm. “Don't worry. Okay? I'm... I'm gonna fix this.”

  
  


“... Fix what?” Frisk snuggled against him a little more, closing their eyes as their breaths came slow and heavy. He instantly regretted his choice of words, turning instead to the flickering television screen. He felt like the pit of his stomach was a mile deep, and he bit his tongue.

  
  


There was no need to open up to them about it.

  
  


There was technically no need to open up to them about _anything_.

  
  


Did they even _deserve_ to know, after what they'd done?

  
  


 

  
  


_Do I even deserve mercy after what I've done?_

  
  


 

  
  


There was so much he wanted to say. There was so much that he wanted to tell them, to ask them, there was so much that he wanted to know, to just understand. They were a good kid. They might understand, too. They might be the only one in all of creation who might actually understand.

  
  


They might also hate him _almost_ as much as he hated himself.

  
  


The thought of them knowing him for what he truly was, that awful _gnawing_ desire in him that he refused to acknowledge, it made him feel _sick_. He was just repressed, that had to be it. That was the only thought that he would allow. They just couldn't be _permitted_ to know, to see him for the wretched thing that he was. All it took was a small magical pulse and he could sense them, could feel their soul burning like wildfire beside him. They were so good, so loving, so forgiving, so _pure_ and just being around him would inevitably corrupt them, and that thought only made him feel worse. Papyrus really was the only good thing for them, the fact that he just came as part of the packaged deal was disgusting. He didn't deserve to be around them. He didn't deserve to know them.

  
  


It would be so easy to just throw himself into Snowdin's river.

Again.

  
  


They would be better off that way.

  
  


 

  
  


They wouldn't be hurt nearly as badly, then.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans opened and closed his mouth uncertainly, squeezing his eye sockets shut.

  
  


“Babybones...” he started eventually, his breathing ragged. His chest hurt, his stomach hurt, his head hurt, everything just ached and every fiber of him wanted him to just shut up before it was too late. When Frisk didn't respond, he made his decision, finally turning to them and opening his eyes.

  
  


They were fast asleep, still gently holding his hand, with a small, pleased little smile on their face.

  
  


 

  
  


_Abomination._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans quietly, softly, ever so slowly slipped out of their loose grip, making sure that they were fully tucked in before clicking off the television. He didn't trust himself to speak anymore. Hell, he hardly trusted himself to breathe. He felt so horrid. Maybe because that's all he was. A horrid, awful creature that felt like he deserved to.

  
  


 

  
  


He hated it, he _despised_ it, but...

There was just a piece of him that didn't want them to let go.

He made sure to keep from dragging his slippers across the floor to avoid scuffling noise and ever so silently slipped out the front door, latching it quietly behind him. He let out a relieved sigh after a moment. He rifled in his pockets for a moment before digging out one of the dog biscuits, reminding himself to drop off the box for Doggo when it wasn't the middle of the night.

  
  


Or maybe he could just drop them off in the middle of the night, he couldn't really care less anymore.

  
  


 

  
  


He lit the tip and inhaled deeply, the scent filling him as he finally let out along, arduous smoky sigh. He sank down and almost collapsed on the front step, rubbing his tired eye sockets with his free hand. Maybe if he really, really tried, he could just _pretend_ for a little while that things would all turn out okay. It felt so silly, so selfish, but that was all he really wanted. To just... pretend.

  
  


Maybe that was all he had been doing the entire time.

  
  


 

  
  


“What am I doing,” he muttered bitterly. “What in the actual _fuck_ am I _doing_ with my _life_.”

  
  


He really was a foul, miserable creature. He didn't bother with the usual smoke rings, just letting out one puff through his nostril bone after the other until the effects finally began to kick in. He felt a bit lighter, a bit dizzier, a bit more absentminded, but he still felt sick.

  
  


 

  
  


Maybe because he _was_ the illness, a sickness for which there was no cure. He was the source of his own misery. And if he kept going down the path he was on, there was a good chance of it spreading to everyone he loved. He simply couldn't afford not to care anymore.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans let out another sigh and dropped the rest of the dog biscuit into the snow, standing and dusting the light sprinkling of snow from his knees before closing his eye sockets. His mind was made up. He almost fell into the shortcut, but he still didn't really care. So long as he got from point A to point B, that was all that mattered.

  
  


 

  
  


Snow rustled down in little eddies from the displaced air as the skeleton vanished from the world, little white monuments to the fleeting hope that he used to hold.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Alphys slurped at her cup of noodles, never taking her eyes off of the screen. The human wandered about the edge of the screen for a little while, the recording skipping a couple beats. They even tramped through the snow right up next to the camera, giving her a decent glance of them. Him? Her? They poked inquisitively at absolutely everything, even meandering eventually right up to the camera with widened thin eyes. For a brief moment Alphys smiled when they gave a little friendly wave before wandering off, a gait in their step. They knew the camera was there but didn't bother it? From the length of their hair and their odd choice of blue striped jumper, she really couldn't tell if they were a boy or a girl, and the question was niggling at her. She shrugged to herself, fast forwarding through the silence. It probably didn't matter.

  
  


 

  
  


She eventually came to the end of the tape, where it was suddenly cut off in a flash to black. Alphys frowned as she ate another mouthful without glancing away, frowning when she dropped a noodle onto her pajamas before flicking it up with a spare claw and chowing it down as well. It was puzzling, to say the least. The tapes were all modified to hold many hours of footage apiece, and the fact that the Snowdin cameras all seemed to suffer from the same malfunction was strange, to say the least. With one of them she even thought she caught a flash of blue, but it might have just been a flicker on the tape. She sighed quietly. She'd have to go back down to the sub lab, _again_ , and dig up more precious blank tapes. She didn't relish the idea of potentially being forced to write over any old tapes just for footage that might or might not yield any sight of the elusive human about. Hopefully the next trip to the garbage dump would provide some more.

  
  


Or at the very least, maybe a couple 'new' anime hidden amongst the rubble.

  
  


 

  
  


“Man I _love_ this channel.”

  
  


 

  
  


Alphys gave an unholy _shriek_ of terror as she toppled out of her swivel chair, tumbling to the ground and grabbing uselessly at her noodles before they landed with a _splat_ beside her.

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans!” Alphys spluttered indignantly as she struggled to stand, blushing deeply. “W-w-what have I t- _told_ you about d- _doing_ that?!”

  
  


“Sorry,” Sans chortled good naturedly as he assisted her to stand. “You're kinda jumpy, anyone ever tell you that?”

  
  


“Yes,” she scowled at him, giving one last dejected gaze to her lost noodles. “Y-you, for one. Undyne. My moms. The King. E-everyone I've ever m-met. What a-are you even doing here? Don't y-you know what time it is-? You smell weird. Are... are you _drunk_?”

  
  


“Obviously the right time, if you're up at this hour,” Sans ignored her last question and shrugged with a small grin. He stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning back and forth on the balls of his feet cheerfully. “Didn't think you'd actually be awake.”

  
  


“C-couldn't sleep, as usual,” Alphys rubbed her eyes wearily, letting out a sigh as she dropped back into her chair and faced him fully, letting her tail swing behind her in the small opening in the back. “I a-assume you h-have a good reason for scaring my tail off.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans looked about a million miles away for a moment, his gaze somewhere behind her. She resisted the urge to glance behind her, staring at him for a bit before he finally answered and the look was gone like it had never been there at all.

  
  


 

  
  


“Just picking up on a bit of light reading,” he shrugged with a plastered grin. “I was gonna pop on down to the true lab and grab hit the books.”

  
  


“C-can you p-please not call it that?” Alphys shifted uncomfortably. “J-just call it a sub lab. That's what it i-is.”

  
  


“Yeah sure,” he shrugged again noncommittally before pulling a small black comb out of his pocket and running it a few times over the top of his skull. Alphys stared at the display but Sans either didn't notice or didn't care. “Can I ask a favor of you, by the way?”

  
  


“Wh-what is it?” Alphys rubbed her elbows. “Y-you know you can a-a-always ask me anything, Sans.”

  
  


For a brief moment, she saw through the carefully planned facade, and it was like seeing a completely different skeleton. He just looked so worn, so tired, so _hurt_.

  
  


And just like that it was gone, leaving her wondering if maybe she'd imagined it altogether.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You're a good friend, Al,” Sans said after a moment, sticking his hands back into his jacket pockets. She blushed awkwardly, looking away. He shook his head quietly. It was painfully apparent that she really wasn't used to receiving compliments.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm, uh...” he coughed uneasily into one hand. “I'm gonna need to borrow some of your documents on humans. Not the anime this time,” he added pointedly.

  
  


“Wh- really?” she blinked curiously. “Is this about the human that you found?”

  
  


“Yeah kinda,” Sans shrugged for the umpteenth time. “Guess you could say I'm, uh, working on some research of my own right now. That's why I'm, eh, also going to need t'borrow some of your notes on... human souls?”

  
  


For a long, horribly stretched moment, she didn't respond.

  
  


She didn't blink.

  
  


She didn't say anything at all.

  
  


 

  
  


“... O-okay...?” she said after a long while, and Sans let out a visible sigh of relief. “A-any r-reason why?”

  
  


“I... I can't really...” Sans looked away, crossing his arms. There was a light dusting of blue crossing his cheeks, and he slowly closed his eyes and let out an uneven sigh. The pained look was back for just a second, but his grin took over his face a moment later.

  
  


 

  
  


“Just researching everything that I need to know to improve the situation,” he said after a moment, and she could tell just how forced it was. “I just have a, uh... theory that I need to test out before anything. It's probably nothing to worry about. By the way, could you keep the chatter between you and Undyne about the human to a minimum?”

“Sh-she _told_ you ab-bout that?” Alphys froze, wide eyed with horror.

  
  


“Nah, took a wild guess,” he winked at her expression. “But in all seriousness, if word were to get out about them, things could get hairy.”

  
  


“I d-don't think U-Undyne would tell anyone...” she shifted nervously in her seat. “A-and I-I-I wouldn't, either! Just... just saying.”

  
  


“Good to know, Al,” he patted her genially on the shoulder, and this time his smile seemed a little more genuine. “I'mma pop on down to the 'sub lab' and dig up some books, shouldn't be more than a few minutes. Can you compile some the information on human souls for me-?”

  
  


“Done and done,” she said proudly, swiveling toward her computer and printing out several long sheets of paper. “I can even have it in a neat little binder for you when you're ready.”

  
  


“You're the best of the _best_ , Alphys,” Sans beamed at her, and her scales turned a cherry red. She started to respond, but he was already gone by the time she tried.

  
  


 

  
  


Alphys sighed and stared down at her ruined snack with a frown.

  
  


 

  
  


For as much as Sans liked to joke around and poke fun, he really was harmless. She closed her eyes for a moment, her mind feeling heavy.

  
  


Before long though he would be gone again, just like always. And before she knew it, it would be back to routine. Back to painful silence, back to the weight of everything on her shoulders, back to misery. Stars she hated anyone being down in that awful place. But he could keep her secret, she _had_ to do the same for him. She sighed again and began to rewind the tapes, her thoughts almost tripping over themselves to be heard, to be listened to, to be acknowledged. Maybe things wouldn't turn out the way that she wanted to. Maybe things wouldn't all wind up more ruined than they already were.

  
  


 

  
  


But for just a little while, she could pretend.

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	19. Teach Me

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans was drifting through eternal shadows, the darkness drawing him in like a black hole. He didn't know where, didn't know for how long. Maybe it didn't really matter. Maybe nothing did.

  
  


 

  
  


He could live with that.

  
  


 

  
  


But was this even really living? He didn't feel alive. He didn't necessarily feel dead, either, but he didn't care for it. He just felt so lost, so alone. No matter how hard he looked, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he reached out he was just met with that awful emptiness as it grew darker-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


_-and darker inside their 'room' as Sans struggled once again to conjure into existence any fragment of magic that he could. Why was magic so difficult? Other monsters could do it. Literally every monster that he knew could do it, even little Papyrus, but he was loathe to ask him to try again after the last fiasco. No, Sans was better off this way. Granted, not by much, but it had to be better. He forced his mind to clear as he closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, focusing on what he wanted. A key, perhaps, that could finagle its way through the solid steel door's lock._

  
  


_He chuckled to himself._

  
  


 

  
  


_Oh, what a joy it would be, if only he had a_ skeleton key.

  
  


 

  
  


P _apyrus shifted on his cot and Sans cursed under his breath, turning and eventually sliding down the door to find the smaller skeleton staring at him._

  
  


 

  
  


“ _... Sans?” Papyrus rubbed his eyes, shifting beneath his pristine white sheet. “What are you doing?”_

  
  


“ _Trying to break out again,” Sans answered truthfully._

  
  


“ _Sans, you shouldn't do that!” Papyrus cringed openly. “What if he gets mad again?”_

  
  


“ _Why care?” he shrugged, refusing to admit that the idea terrified him just as much. “What's he gonna do, torture me? Oh. Right. Wait.”_

  
  


“ _That-that isn't funny...”_

  
  


“ _Sorry, bro,” Sans shook his head. “Yeah. That was kinda grim. Just, uh. Just go back to sleep. Okay?”_

  
  


“ _You know full well that I can't sleep if you're doing that,” Papyrus frowned. After a moment he smiled and patted his bedside. “I can rest easier knowing that you're sleeping, too.”_

  
  


 

  
  


_Sans paused for a full beat._

  
  


_He could feel his resolve slowly dwindling, and oh god how he hated the feeling. He just didn't have it in him to say no to the little skeleton though, and they both knew it. Sans sighed again for what felt like the millionth time before giving up and slowly shuffling over to Papyrus's cot. His brother wriggled to the side and pressed himself up against the wall with a grin. Flashes of images of those wretched creatures floating in the tanks burned his eye sockets and he had to struggle to shake it off._

  
  


“ _Yay, story time!”_

  
  


“ _Paps, I really don't know if now is the best time-”_

  
  


“ _I can sleep easy if you tell me another story,” Papyrus said pointedly. Sans only laughed a little and ruffled the top of his head._

  
  


“ _Sneaky little prison rat, aren'tcha?” he chuckled again. “Alright, alright. You win.”_

  
  


“ _The Papyrus always wins!”_

  
  


 

  
  


_He held Papyrus's outstretched hand, gazing off into the distance-_

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


_-where the many packed buildings held so many monsters, more than he had ever seen in one place. Papyrus looked about in wide eyed wonder, his mouth hanging open a little. He pointed eagerly at the dingy apartment that they approached, just on the outside of the capital. At least it was likely that they would be undisturbed here. Sans slowly put down the cardboard box that held some of the 'acquired' belongings, sticking his hands in his pockets. He really could get used to the jacket. He hated leaving his hands swinging by his sides like Papyrus tended to do, it was like having somewhere to place his hands was just a reflex by this point._

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Heh-huh-hew...” Papyrus struggled as he pointed at the little grey building. “... H-h-house?”_

  
  


“ _That's right, Papy,” Sans encouraged him lowly, his chest aching. “This is our new house. We're... we're gonna be so much better off here. Just you wait and see.”_

  
  


“ _House!” Papyrus poked his head in through one of the broken windows. “House, house!”_

  
  


 

  
  


_Sans wanted to weep from the sight. Not the 'house', it was absolutely an eyesore. The paint was peeling, the bricks were cracked and chipped, vines were strangling their way up the side and what patchy grass that grew out from the front was all dead and choked from the weeds. Sans really did hate weeds. No, it was the fact that Papyrus was ever so slowly learning to speak again. After such a long, painfully silent time of the little skeleton only able to communicate through basic noises, hearing him pronounce anything at all was such a relief that he almost cried. Maybe he wouldn't recall the experiments that had robbed the innocent skeleton of his vocal functions for such a long time. Maybe he wouldn't ever really remember. But maybe, if Sans tried harder than he had ever tried, the healing magic would eventually lead his brother to being able to speak normally again._

  
  


_But that would only heal half of the damage, even if he did everything in his power._

  
  


 

  
  


_The damage to his mind was already done._

  
  


 

  
  


_Sans's fists clenched in his pockets futilely as he let out a long, slow breath._

  
  


_God how he desperately hoped that Papyrus never remembered._

  
  


_He wished that he didn't remember, either._

  
  


 

  
  


_All he could do now was try his damndest to give Papyrus a better life, a good life, the life that he deserved. Maybe things would work out here. And if not, well, there were always more isolated places that he could continue to work. He most certainly was never, ever going back to Hotland again, that was for sure._

  
  


_Who even named a place smothered in magma 'Hotland', anyway? That was just silly. He shrugged to himself. Who knew. Maybe he'd someday meet the person in charge of naming the Underground and give them a good piece of his mind._

  
  


 

  
  


_He followed closely as Papyrus wandered inside the dark abode-_

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


- _and stared down at the child holding their arms out to him. They didn't even bother dodging anymore. They just... stood there. Smiling. Crying. Accepting of every single attack that he threw at them. They didn't sidestep anymore, didn't roll out of the way of the bones that shattered across their body as they were swiftly bludgeoned to the ground, leaving them broken and bleeding._

  
  


 

  
  


_What was WRONG with them?_

  
  


 

  
  


_Sans mused over this for a while as he crouched in front of them, not even hearing their wheezing words. There was clearly something very, very wrong. Maybe he was finally close to getting them to give up and stop the resets for good this time. Why weren't they fighting anymore? Had he finally gotten them to just... surrender?_

  
  


 

  
  


“ _F-f-forgive...” they sputtered even as blood dripped from their lips. Blood really was an interesting thing, the longer that he stared at it. Did they actually want him to forgive them? After everything that they had done? Like they deserved it. It was too late for that. It was too late for a lot of things._

  
  


“ _You must have a sick sense of humor,” Sans said quietly, kneeling before them on his haunches. He just felt so sick. Sick of them making him do this. Sick of this awful golden hall with the chirrup of birds no too far away. Sick of reliving the same thing over and over again. He was so, so tired. How long were they going to keep this up? Just how long had they been doing this? His sense of time had been utterly demolished quite a few resets ago. Maybe it didn't matter anymore. Maybe it never did._

  
  


 

  
  


“ _I... forg-give... you.”_

  
  


_Now, that was sick. They were the one forgiving_ him.

  
  


 

  
  


_Sans let out a low, shaky breath, slowly placing his hand atop their head. They flinched at his touch, weeping beginning anew. They knew what was coming next. They both did._

  
  


_This time Sans didn't bother torturing them to death._

  
  


_Maybe this time was the one._

  
  


_Maybe this time, they wouldn't come back._

  
  


_God how he hoped they wouldn't come back._

  
  


_This had to be so much worse for them than it was for him._

  
  


 

  
  


_And if it wasn't, god help them he was going to make it_ worse.

  
  


 

  
  


_He conjured another sharp bone in his hand, drawing his hand up high-_

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans bolted upright at the sound of a terrified yelp that echoed through the house, his marrow pounding through his bones. He coughed and clutched at an invisible line across his chest, mind whirling.

  
  


 

  
  


Snowdin. He was in Snowdin, lying on top of his messy blankets. A single glance out the window told him that much. The books were scattered around his bed, right where he'd left them. His breathing came fast and shallow as he struggled to close his eye sockets, squeezing them shut and forcing his rambling mind to narrow, to focus. He was in Snowdin. It was definitely still nighttime, it had to be. Papyrus hadn't woken him up, but it felt to be sometime around very early morning, if not there already.

  
  


And it hadn't been him who had screamed this time.

  
  


 

  
  


He lay in bed for another minute, desperately wishing himself to stop shaking.

  
  


To his surprise, after a few minutes he heard his bedroom door slowly creak open just a crack. Had he left it unlocked again? He started to respond to Papyrus not to worry as he was going to check on the source of the noise before he realized that Papyrus wasn't actually in his doorway at all.

  
  


 

  
  


“S-Sans...?”

  
  


“Yo,” he said without lifting his head. He didn't trust himself. “You... what's up, buddy?”

  
  


“I... I thought I heard a noise.”

  
  


Which was, essentially, kid code for 'I had a scary dream and now I can't go back to sleep'.

  
  


Sans sighed again and sat up, rubbing his weary eye sockets. Frisk's hair was messy and they bit their lip as they shifted from foot to foot, as if uncertain that they should even be there.

  
  


“... C'mere, buddy,” Sans said eventually, forcing himself to sit up. Frisk almost ran to his bedside, throwing their arms around his shoulders and burying their face into his chest. Were they usually this warm? Sans felt his soul ache as they hugged him, noting how fiercely they clung to him, how badly they were shaking.

  
  


 

  
  


“You, uh... you okay, kiddo?” Sans asked softly after a few minutes, gently picking them up and letting them sit on the bed beside him. “You don't look so good.”

  
  


“B-bad dream...” Frisk muttered, still not pulling away. Their cheeks were pale, they looked like they had just been sick. “It was... it was bad.”

  
  


“It's okay, pal...” he rubbed concentric circles on their back, eventually hugging them as well. “It's okay. Alright? Everything is okay.”

  
  


“It was _bad_ ,” Frisk whimpered and finally broke down and began sobbing, only serving to make him feel worse. “B-b-bad, it was so _bad_...!”

  
  


 

  
  


“Shh, shh shh, hey- _hey_ now,” he refused to allow himself to panic, the sudden swarming urge to squeeze them tighter overwhelming his thoughts. “Shh. It's okay, babybones. It's okay. Alright? You're-you're _safe_ , okay? Shh, come on. Please, don't cry, babybones. Everything is gonna be okay.”

  
  


Frisk sniffled and buried their face in his shoulder, and he hugged them again.

  
  


He only repeated himself for a while until his throat began to feel hoarse, but it didn't matter. Maybe it never did. He didn't care either way. He just wanted to hold them until the bad dreams left them, to still their trembling, to dry their tears.

  
  


 

  
  


His dream, however, was still right at the forefront of his mind. He loathed himself for the things he'd done. They were so small, so frail. They just wouldn't stop _shaking_. Had their nightmare really bothered them that badly? What was he thinking, he wouldn't be surprised if they had nightmares for the rest of their short life. That didn't explain the fever though.

  
  


“... You wanna talk about it?” Sans asked after a long while, petting the back of their head. Frisk was muffled with their face pressed against him and he sighed before shrugging and holding them a little closer as gently as he could manage. “It's okay. It's okay, babybones. I... I get nightmares like that too, sometimes. It's all gonna be okay.”

  
  


 

  
  


He eventually shifted uncomfortably as he carefully pulled Frisk with him so that he could sit with his back to the wall, letting them cling to him in his lap as he stroked their hair. He closed his eye sockets after a while, never letting them go. They needed him.

Someone needed _him._

  
  


 

  
  


He silently swore to himself, that no matter what, he wasn't ever going to let them get hurt again.

  
  


They were already hurting, so much.

  
  


He was tempted to let out a magical pulse to sense their soul, uncertain of even why he felt the urge to do so. He just needed to know... _something_. Instead he sighed again and shook his head subtly. He could feel their heartbeat against him, shaky and weak. They obviously weren't doing well. All he wanted to do was help.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm sorry-” Frisk started, but he hushed them almost instantly.

  
  


“It's okay, buddy,” he held his forehead to the top of their head, the scent of their hair filling him with determination. “It's okay. You don't have to be sorry. Okay? You're gonna be alright. I'm gonna take care of everything. Just don't cry. Please, babybones. Don't cry. _Okay_? Because everything is gonna be okay.”

  
  


“I... I had a bad dream,” they started after a long while. “I was... I was back there again.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans had to fight not to cringe. Of course he wasn't the only one to be haunted by _that_. After the things that he'd said, after the horrendous things he'd _done_ , of _course_ they would have nightmares. They were living in the same house with their _murderer_ , it was no small wonder they woke up screaming. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't be a regular occurrence. And if it was, what else could he do but hold them and apologize? He felt a tinge of remorseful disgust at himself. How could they possibly still trust him, still look at him with mercy, with forgiveness?

  
  


How could they possibly be so cruel as to be so much _better_ than he was?

  
  


He was so vicious. So _selfish_.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm... I'm sorry, kiddo,” he choked, fighting back a sudden tide, his eye sockets burning. “God... god, babybones. I'm so, so sorry.”

  
  


“It wasn't that...” Frisk murmured after a bit of silence, never letting go of his jacket without looking up. “It was... I-I, I'm sorry. I can't, it hurts so _much_ , I just can't...!”

  
  


“Shh, hey, it's okay...” he petted the top of their head, running a thumb over their eyebrows and looking into their eyes. At least they weren't red this time. “C'mon, kiddo. If you start cryin' again then I'm gonna start cryin', and there's few things sadder than watchin' a fully grown skeleton crying his eye sockets out. So please don't cry anymore. Okay? Everything is gonna be okay. I promise.”

  
  


 

  
  


They sat in relative silence for a long while. That was fine with Sans. They even managed to stop crying, although it felt like it took hours and hours, but he didn't care. So long as he could hold them just a while longer, so long as he could keep their bad dreams at bay, he didn't mind. He was half fending off his own memories as well. But for once, he could put those aside, if only for long enough to let Frisk know how important that they were to him, to let them know that they were loved, to let them know that they were safe. He could feel their soul, so gentle, so warm, so _alive_. He had to actively resist the urge to draw it out to ensure that it was safe, to hold them as close as he could, something, anything he could do to just make the hurt go away.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans?”

  
  


“Hm?” he blinked sleepily, not realizing that he had almost fallen asleep yet again.

  
  


“Did... did you really mean what you said? Before?”

“What'cha mean, kiddo?”

  
  


“A-about...” they fidgeted awkwardly, finally meeting his gaze. “Um. About... t-trying to be my, um. Dad.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans was fully awake now, suddenly feeling as though his mind were reeling from their words.

  
  


“W-well... yeah,” he admitted, a light dusting of blue crossing his bony cheeks. “I-I know I'm not exactly the best role model. I'm not a good caretaker. I'm not a nice guy. Hell, I'm not much good at anything. But I just... I dunno. I just... want you to have the best life possible. Maybe I can't give you the _best_ , but-but... I just want you to have _better_. I'm... I'm sorry I'm not your real dad, babybones.”

  
  


Frisk muttered something darkly, burying their face into his shoulder again.

  
  


“Can't hear a word you're saying with yer mouth full of bones, kiddo,” he chuckled lightly, patting their back. Frisk eventually pulled away a little, and he saw how dejected, how utterly _miserable_ they looked, and he froze. Had he said the wrong thing? What did he do wrong? Should he have just kept his mouth shut?

  
  


_This is what happens, moron. This is what happens when you open up-_

  
  


 

  
  


“I don't have a 'real' dad,” Frisk said with a surprising amount of bitterness in their tone. “He doesn't get to be called that after he sold me.”

  
  


Sans felt the pit of his stomach _drop_.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I'm gonna keep you safe,” Sans said quietly after a while. He held their chin in his fingers and tilted their head up to see them fully, and he didn't even care that he was crying just as much as they were. “I am. I'm gonna keep you _safe._ Okay, babybones? I _swear_ to whatever you find holy, I will – keep – you – safe. Nobody – and I mean _nobody_ – is ever gonna _hurt_ you, not ever, _ever_ again. You trust me. Right?”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk didn't answer at first, and it made his chest ache. However, they finally swallowed dryly and nodded, sniffling and hiding their face amongst his jacket once more.

  
  


“Y-yeah. I trust you, Sans.”

  
  


“I love you, babybones.”

  
  


Frisk was shaking harder than ever as they held on to him for dear life.

  
  


“I love you too, Sans.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


Sans stood over the bed, damp rag clenched in his phalanges. He stared down at the human's pale face, their rosied cheeks, their half lidded eyes and scrunched up, pained expression. Frisk whimpered weakly and clutched their stomach, breathing coming shallow and unsteady.

"Sans...?" Frisk wheezed and Sans resumed silently brushing their head, wiping their face with the cloth.

"I'm here, kiddo," he responded softly. Just as he had been doing. He'd almost forgotten for how long. "Shh. I'm here, babybones."

"It hurts," their teeth were clattering as they shivered, but Sans didn't have any more blankets to cover them with. "Please, it-it _hurts_ Sans..."

"I know, Frisk. I know, I'm sorry. I know," he murmured over again, pulling the blankets up over their scarred neck. Frisk gave a pitiful shove at the heavy blankets but Sans insisted them tighter on them. "You gotta-gotta keep them all on. Humans do that 'sweat out the fever' thing."

_That is a thing they do, right?_

  
  


"It's so hot," they struggled to breathe. "Please, make-make it _stop_..."

  
  


  
  


Sans just silently washed the sweat from their brow, keeping the water bucket close. He wondered if the whole container would even make it to the empty point before the eighth reset. He bit his tongue and washed their face, brushing the hair from their bloodshot eyes. Their gaze was murky and wild, hazy and confused as they tried to keep their eyes open and failed again.

 

"Just try ta get through, kiddo," he said softly. They managed to wriggle an arm from beneath the mountain of blankets, their bare scarred chest peeking out for a moment. Instead of tucking them back in he simply entwined his phalanges with their trembling fingers, and it seemed to help them still for a little while. But their legs were back to jittering, their body twitching.

" _Need_ it," Frisk muttered over and over, the fever so hot that it almost burned his hand. "Why? W-why won't it s-stop, I thought I was g-good...?"

"It's... I think – I think it's withdrawals, babybones," Sans informed them softly, tucking the hair behind their ear. "It's... it's not gonna hurt fer much longer. I-I promise."

 

_Liar._

 

_God, they were in so much pain. He hated seeing them like this, he hated feeling like this. So helpless, watching an unfolding nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. But he couldn't fall apart. Not when they needed him. Were they even moving at this point? He was shaking almost as badly as they were, his head was pounding. He couldn't take this. Tears leaked down from the corners of their eyes, absolutely silently. Even when they cried they made as little noise as possible. It made him feel even worse._

 

Frisk's breathing hitched, just as it had the last half a dozen times it happened.

He wasn't taking chances this time. He was sick of resisting. It was too much effort.

He sank every drop of green magic into them that he could.

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 

  
  


Grillby stared out at his pristine bar. It had been a long night before, and the early morning customers would soon begin arriving. He felt a spark of pride at his daughter, who had gladly helped him and still managed to keep up on chores and homework all at once. He certainly hadn't managed her level of multitasking when he had been her age. She really was so much like her mother.

  
  


Now if only he could convince her to stop texting every five seconds he'd be making actual progress.

  
  


 

  
  


He gave a little puffy sigh and shook his head, giving the jukebox a once over before returning behind the bar as the front door slowly swung open, the little bell above the door ringing cheerfully.

  
  


“Good morning!” he stifled a yawn, straightening his bow tie and glasses. “How can I – Sans, are you alright?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans shuffled right up to the bar, not bothering to wipe the tear tracks from his face as he dropped a small but hefty brown paper bag with a jangling thunk onto the counter.

  
  


“'Sup, Grillbz?” Sans said emotionlessly.

  
  


“Sans, what happened?” Grillby almost leaned over the counter anxiously. “You look as if you owe _death itself_ money.”

  
  


“Speak of the devil,” he replied blankly, nudging the bag toward Grillby. The fire elemental stared at the skeleton a moment longer before peering into the bag.

  
  


 

  
  


It was filled to the brim with money.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans, what-?”

  
  


“I'm paying off my tab.”

  
  


 

  
  


Grillby stared at the skeleton before pinching his arm, staring back and forth between the skeleton and the bag.

  
  


“Is... is this happening?” Grillby balked. “I'm having the tab dream again, right? This isn't happening.”

  
  


“I'm paying off my tab,” Sans repeated more intently, slowly drawing himself up to sit on one of the stools. “I threw in some extra for the interest, and more on top of that.”

  
  


“... Why? Is everything – oh stars, _Papyrus_ is okay, right?”

  
  


“I... I need a favor,” Sans asked after a long silence. “Grillby. My man. My bartender. My friend.”

  
  


“Yes, Sans.”

  
  


“I... need you to teach me how to be a good father.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	20. Fixing Everything

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


_\- The true nature of the human soul is as fickle as it is elusive._

  
  


 

  
  


_Curiously, unlike monster's souls, human souls are incredibly powerful and have a peculiar tendency to persist a while after death instead of dissipating completely. Humans leave their bodies behind entirely instead of turning to dust, and some believe that it is this inconsistency between the body and soul which causes their metaphysical identity to linger. It is also unknown precisely where human souls go when they pass, as no known reliable record exists of a human soul returning, however there are a great deal of human religions based on such similar theories -_

  
  


Sans's mind felt like it was melting. He chewed quietly on the tip of a pen as he ran his phalanges down the pages. He powered through the books and assorted documents regardless, trying to commit everything he could to memory.

 

  
  


_\- Asgore has instructed me to continue research on the contained souls. I'm worried. After Mettaton I thought that things would be so different. I guess I was right, in a way. Hypothetically, if it were possible to create a new soul from scratch, it wouldn't be such a big deal. Everybody is counting on me now. I can't give up. I don't even know if I can do this. I can't -_

  
  


 

  
  


_\- unable to be properly developed. Humans lack the capacity to connect on the level of monsters. Perhaps it is because they do not require either magic or love and compassion in order to continue existing. They truly are terrifying creatures. If they still retained even the most basic of magical capabilities, perhaps there is hope that humans could someday once again bond as monsters do-_

  
  


 

  
  


Sans blinked.

  
  


He paused, reading and then rereading the highlighted sentences several more times.

  
  


 

  
  


Terrifying creatures.

  
  


Human souls are incredibly powerful.

  
  


Lack the capacity to connect on the level of monsters.

  
  


Bond as monsters do.

  
  


 

  
  


_Oh. Oh no. Ohh, no._

  
  


“... Ohhh, _shit-_ ”

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans?”

  
  


Sans _slammed_ the decrepit books shut, sweating buckets as he swiveled on his stool. He propped his chin up instantly on his workbench, turning casually to Papyrus who stood in the doorway of the shed behind the house.

  
  


 

  
  


“What's up, bro?” Sans tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, in spite of the fact that he felt as if he were going to be ill. He felt suddenly clammy and weak, and had to force himself to sit straight on the borrowed barstool in front of his bench. He calmly shuffled the papers together and stacked them atop the books, covering them without looking away. “You need somethin'?”

  
  


“I was just letting you know that it's almost time for your sentry shift,” Papyrus blinked. “Are you alright? You don't... look so good.”

  
  


“Yeah, of course,” Sans hopped down from the stool, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Everything is fine. Just peachy.”

  
  


“Are you sure?” Papyrus entered the shed tentatively, fiddling his gloved fingers together. “You've got that look again.”

  
  


“What look?” Sans had to resist the urge to flinch. “I'm-I'm just not used to bein' up this early is all,” Sans lied quickly. “C'mon, bro. You know me. Never have been an early bird.”

  
  


“Fair enough...” Papyrus seemed at least somewhat satisfied with the answer. “I can't say I'm not surprised, though. What are you even doing in here at this hour?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans took in a deep, shaky breath and let out a quiet sigh.

  
  


“I'm, uh...” he started lamely. “Studying.”

  
  


“... For what?” Papyrus blinked again.

  
  


“I just thought, y'know... maybe, since-since Frisk is living here now, that I'd try to... pick up the slack? A little? Alphys is always swamped with work, so I just thought that I'd, uh, pick up another job... at the lab.”

  
  


Papyrus didn't answer.

  
  


He didn't blink.

  
  


He didn't even breathe.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans shifted beneath his gaze for what felt like hours, sweat sticking to him like glue.

  
  


“That's _fantastic_ news!” Papyrus belted suddenly, swooping inward and scooping Sans up in his arms, who let out a surprised yelp. “Oh my god, Sans! This is _great_! Effort! You're putting in actual _effort_!”

  
  


“C'mon, bro,” Sans slapped his shoulders weakly with the palm of his hands, grinning. “You don't have to sound so skel-shocked.”

  
  


“I'm just...” Papyrus gently placed him on the ground, wiping his eye sockets. “I'm just... I'm so _proud_ of you, Sans.”

  
  


“It's-it's really not a big deal-” Sans started awkwardly, rubbing his colored cheeks. Guilt was scratching at the inside of his ribs, but it wasn't like it was entirely untrue. “I'm probably just gonna have to slack off twice as hard now.”

  
  


“Make terrible jokes all you like, I know effort when I see it!” Papyrus patted his shoulder, beaming. “This calls for celebratory breakfast spaghetti!”

  
  


“Is it any different from regular breakfast spaghetti?”

  
  


“Yes. Celebratory breakfast spaghetti has significantly more confetti.”

  
  


“So it's confetti spaghetti?”

  
  


“Not necessarily-”

  
  


“Just don't forgetti the confetti for the breakfasti celebratti spaghetti.”

  
  


“OH MY _GOD_ , SANS.”

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans trudged through the snow, ice trickling in through his slippers as they walked. Frisk bounced gleefully from snowbank to snowbank, making little _hop! hop!_ noises as they went. Sans couldn't help but grin a bit wider at the display, shaking his head a little and adjusting the worn old book tucked under his arm. The velvet horns atop their jacket flopped wildly with every jump, and it was a testament to Papyrus's stitching skills that they hadn't fallen off yet as he was expecting to happen at any moment. They had barely let go of that silly costume since the moment Papyrus had given it to them.

  
  


 

  
  


“Keep practicin',” Sans chuckled as they approached his wooden sentry station. “You could make a long jump athlete at this rate.”

  
  


“I don't wanna be an athlete,” Frisks stuck out their tongue a little, bouncing down from the snowbank to land next to him. “I'm a bunny today.”

  
  


“Might have the wrong ears for a bunny...” Sans plucked the velvet horns on their hood between his phalanges. “More like a Gyftrot.”

  
  


“I can't be a bunny rabbit?” they frowned a little, their brows furrowing.

  
  


“You can be anything you wanna be, kiddo. I like you plenty as you are, though.”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk beamed up at him toothily as they took his hand, marching wholeheartedly through the snow. That mysteriously warm little tingling had returned to his chest, but he brushed it off in favor of returning to his thoughts. There was so much work to be done, and he wasn't even certain of where to start. That tiny hope remained though, that niggling little voice in the back of his head that reminded him that he could always be wrong, that he might not really be in over his head, that all he needed to do was check...

  
  


He let out a quiet sigh through his nostril bones, dropping the book under the backside of his sentry station next to the chair as he released Frisk's hand and ruffled their hair. There were some things that he simply couldn't _ask_ of them, though. That much was apparent. Besides, what if they declined? What was he supposed to do then? He pushed that thought away as well, digging in his pocket for a moment before drawing out a small paper bag and holding it out to the child.

  
  


 

  
  


“... What's this?” Frisk asked after a moment, taking it and peeking inside.

  
  


“Positive reinforcement?” Sans shrugged as they pulled out the cinnamon bunny. “I'm gonna be, uh, busy for a bit. Can I trust you to stay here for a while?”

  
  


“I guess...” they responded with a bit of a frown. “How long will you be gone?”

  
  


“I'm just gonna see if an old friend is around,” he said simply. “And then I'll be right back. Okay, kiddo? Nothing to worry about, I promise. Just don't go wandering off this time. Alright?”

  
  


Frisk nodded once before tearing into the sugary treat. He couldn't say that he was particularly surprised, they'd hardly touched their 'celebratory spaghetti'. The ferocity with which they devoured the treat with the pleased expression on their face was nothing short of adorable. It was probably far better than the spaghetti anyway. Perhaps that was why Papyrus had been acting so strangely as he left. Sans shrugged it off and patted them on the head again as they clambered up onto the seat behind the sentry station before tucking his hands into his pockets and setting off at a brisk pace. They would be fine for a little while, hopefully. Just in case, he sent out a magical pulse to see if he could sense any other monsters. Frisk's soul burned brightly beside him, but he couldn't find a single soul around aside from them. That was fine. Everything would be fine. They would be alright on their own for a little bit.

  
  


 

  
  


It only took a few minutes of walking to reach his destination, but he didn't mind. He could have easily just taken a shortcut, but he needed the time to clear his mind. He stared up at the massive stone door with the worn old royal insignia painted across it, letting out another sigh. Sans started to knock before sticking his hand back in his jacket. He rifled in his inner pocket for a few moments before digging out a dog biscuit and lit it, taking in a deep breath as he sank down with his back against the door. He sat there for a while, keeping mental note of the time. Maybe this time she would actually be there. He waited until the effects began to kick in and his trembling hands finally began to stop shaking as he stared up at the stony ceiling, clouded by snow.

  
  


“... Knock knock,” he said after a few minutes, rapping his knuckles against the door without standing.

  
  


 

  
  


... But nobody came.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sighed yet again, closing his eyes and focusing instead on smoking. He had to do something to still his nerves. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time someone would actually answer.

  
  


He doubted it. The prickling loneliness began to claw its way into his chest yet again, familiar and unwanted, but he couldn't manage to push it off. He just wanted someone to talk to. Even if it was just lame knock knock jokes, he really couldn't care less. Just someone to talk to. Someone that would understand. Someone that would listen. Someone that would care.

  
  


Stars knew he couldn't bring himself to care much anymore.

  
  


Sans took in another long drag and blew out a smoke ring.

  
  


_Come on. Please. Please, just give me this._

  
  


 

  
  


“Knock, knock...” he said again, although he couldn't really bring himself to speak very loudly. He had just started to flick away the dog biscuit into the snow and began to stand when, finally, at long last, he heard a soft, quiet reply.

  
  


“Who's there?”

  
  


Sans's soul bounced in his chest at the sound of her voice, and he gleefully replied with a growing grin.

  
  


 

  
  


“Snow.”

  
  


“Snow who?”

  
  


“Snow problem for you, but I'm getting hypothermia out here.”

  
  


 

  
  


He heard the light titter of laughter just behind the door, and he allowed himself to relax a little.

  
  


“Only joking, you know,” he added quietly, closing his eyes. “You know. Skeleton and all. Cold just goes right through me.”

  
  


“I find that rather humerous,” the woman replied. “Good to know you've still got a funny bone.”

  
  


“All of my bones are funny,” he grinned. “Too bad I can't say the same for everybody. How've you been, by the way?”

  
  


“It has been... quiet,” she responded softly, so lowly that he almost didn't hear. “I'm sorry that I could not arrive for a few days. I have been... rather preoccupied.”

  
  


They fell silent after a while, swapping knock knock jokes for a few minutes. The silence nagged at him and he let out another sigh, thinking.

  
  


 

  
  


“Hey,” he said eventually. “Are you... are you alright, miss?”

  
  


“Whatever do you mean?” the woman asked, though her tone was shaking.

  
  


“Just, y'know...” Sans frowned a little, crossing his arms and readjusting in his position against the door. “You seem a little outta sorts today. You alright?”

  
  


“I am... _fine_ ,” she replied after a moment. She didn't _sound_ fine. Her voice was a little hoarse and scratchy, and it made him supremely uncomfortable to think of the mystery woman being miserable.

  
  


 

  
  


“... So,” Sans started after a while, sticking his hands back in his pockets and taking a deep breath, his mind made up. “You know that human that you wanted me to watch out for?”

  
  


He could almost feel her bristle behind the door.

  
  


“You have been keeping an eye out for them, have you not?”

  
  


“I guess you could say that,” he shrugged to no one. “They're, uh, actually living with me an' Paps now.”

  
  


“Have-have they... mentioned me? At all?”

  
  


When Sans failed to answer, he heard her let out a heavy sigh.

  
  


 

  
  


“I... suspected-” she started before clearing her throat. “Are they well?”

  
  


“Yeah. The kid's doin' alright,” Sans answered quietly. “Likes to wander off a little bit too much, but they're a good kid.”

  
  


“Thank you,” he heard her barely above a whisper. “For... for caring for them.”

  
  


“Ayy, don't even worry 'bout it,” he shrugged again. “I'm happy to. They're practically part of the fam-fam...ily...”

  
  


He closed his eyes slowly, letting out a long, slow breath.

  
  


_Family._

  
  


_My kid._

  
  


_Family._

  
  


_Part of the family._

  
  


_Oh fuck._

 

  
  


… _I'm gonna fix this, babybones. I swear to god. I'll fix this._

  
  


_I'm gonna fix everything._

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“Shh, come on, now. You aren't going to start _crying_ again, are you?”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk sniffled miserably, pulling at the vines wrapped tightly around their wrists as they knelt in the snow.

  
  


“P-please, Flowey...” Frisk insisted, forcibly kneeling before the plant that just stared blankly back up at them. “Just-just listen...!”

  
  


“Just listen, just listen!” he spat mockingly. “God, you really are an annoyance. Do you really even believe a single word that you're saying?”

  
  


“Flowey, please-”

  
  


“Not that listening to you grovel isn't _fascinating_ and all,” Flowey inspected the tip of a vine protruding from the earth as if it were his fingernails, his tone bored. “But I'm kind of on a tight schedule, so let's just get to the point.”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk was _slammed_ hard into the ground. They whimpered when they were dragged back up into a kneeling position, another vine wrapping its way around their neck and forcing them to tilt their head up to meet the flower's gaze.

  
  


“This?” Flowey said calmly as if he were discussing the weather. “This is just the beginning, you little idiot. You should have listened to me when you had the chance. Everything is wrong, it's all _wrong_ , and it's that damned skeleton's fault. I'm giving you a _chance_ to fix the _mistakes_ , you understand?”

  
  


Frisk didn't respond. Flowey tightened the vine around their neck significantly, causing them to struggle and try to pull at it futilely.

  
  


“Can't you understand that I'm doing what's _right?_ ” he continued in a seething tone, vines squeezing so tightly that Frisk stopped breathing at several points. “I'm the one doing all the hard work here. I'm the one pushing all the pieces into place. I'm the one who's supposed to inherit this world, and the more time you waste _fucking around-_ ” he swung them into the ground face first again before yanking them up, dirt and snow and blood on their face. “-the longer _I_ have to wait to deal with all of you living trash heaps.”

When Frisk didn't respond he moved as if to hit them again, watching as they flinched before lowering the appendage and tutting.

  
  


“We just have to get things back on track,” Flowey said matter of factly. “But don't you worry your pretty little empty _head_ about that, Frisk. Your old pal _Flowey_ is going to get things worked out for you. And this time, you're actually going to listen _properly_. You got that?”

  
  


Again, Frisk didn't reply. Flowey responded by constricting the vine around their throat, causing them to choke, their eyes widening as they gasped uselessly for air. He released them after a few moments, leaving them coughing and hacking, grasping uselessly at the snow.

  
  


“Obviously,” Flowey said cheerfully as he used his vines to lift Frisk's head up to look at him, and he gently brushed the tears from their face as he did so. “We're going to have to take more drastic measures. Shh, there there, my little monarch. Don't cry, now. I'm not going to hurt you.”

  
  


Frisk looked at him hopefully, sniffling and wiping their eyes.

  
  


“I'll hurt Papyrus.”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk froze.

  
  


“Mm-hmm, _that_ get your attention?” Flowey perked up a little, leering at them. “Not right away. I'll pick off the stragglers first. When monsters go missing, you'll be the only one to know that it's all your fault. Hurting _you_ isn't getting us anywhere, since apparently next to nothing gets through that _thick_ head of yours. You're going to do what I say, _when_ I say it, or, well.”

  
  


He plucked a single flower from the frozen ground, holding it in his vines in front of Frisk. Then he wrapped a vine tightly around the stem and violently ripped the top off, sending petals dancing into the snow.

  
  


“ _Pop goes the skell~y.”_

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk let out a single sob, holding their hands over their eyes and sinking into themselves.

  
  


“Shhh, now _now_ , don't start _that_ again!” Flowey chirruped happily, bouncing a little on his stem. “Just take what we talked about into consideration, that's all I'm asking, _friend_. And if you don't, well. Think about it for a minute. You know how much Sans _loves_ his brother. That useless sack of bones can't _live_ without him. So if he were to come back to find Papyrus's _dust_ all over the floor, do you know what would happen?”

  
  


Frisk opened their mouth to speak, but Flowey spoke over them.

  
  


“Why, he'd want to RESET, of course!” Flowey grinned at them. “And you _know_ he would. You think he's mean? You think he's bad now? You think he's messed up? Tee hee. You've got no _clue._ You have no idea what a _real_ _monster_ is like.”

  
  


Frisk deflated, their cheeks a cherry red as they looked away, silent tears beginning anew. Flowey patted them softly on the head, causing them to flinch. He chuckled at that, burrowing into the ground and leaving them holding their bruised arms over their chest, snowflakes silently falling around them.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Oh_!” he _popped_ back up, causing them to jump. “Just a friendly reminder,” he plucked another flower from the icy ground and held it in front of them in one of his vines. Then he grinned and slowly began to rip it apart, tossing the remains at their knees. “Of what will happen if you tell anybody. Wouldn't want any of your _friends_ to go missing, hmm? Ah, who am I kidding. You have no friends. Let's keep in touch. See you later!”

  
  


 

  
  


Flowey grinned to himself as he burrowed away a short distance, watching as Sans slowly trundled back down the path in the woods.

  
  


He was going to fix this.

  
  


He was going to fix the timeline.

  
  


He was going to fix _everything_.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	21. Daisy Chain

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans meandered down the snowy path at a leisurely pace.

  
  


 

  
  


For once, things were turning out okay.

  
  


Not _great_. But okay.

  
  


 

  
  


Light trickles of snow fell around him, obscuring his vision, and he huddled inside his jacket a little. He didn't need the warmth, necessarily, it was more out of reflex than anything. He chuckled a little to himself at that. _Muscle_ memory, indeed. He gave a little wave to Frisk as he approached the sentry station, having to peer through the snowfall to find them. They didn't seem to notice him, and he frowned. Maybe leaving them on their own for a while really wasn't the best idea. It was growing colder and the snowfall surely couldn't have been comfortable, and he could see them kneeling beside the wooden station as if inspecting something between their arms.

  
  


Almost like-

  
  


 

  
  


Sans jolted ahead, almost tripping over himself in his hurry.

  
  


“Frisk?” Sans stumbled through the snow, feeling dizzy. He had to fight not to stress out, but it wouldn't be a problem not to panic, because there was no need to and it wasn't a thing that he did. Ever. For any reason. “Buddy? You... you okay?”

  
  


Frisk was clearly _not_ okay, and he felt shards of panic rising in his chest as he doubled his pace, reaching out for them. Frisk cringed when he did so, and he held a hand on their back as he knelt down beside them.

  
  


 

  
  


“Kiddo?” Sans asked worriedly. “What's wrong?”

  
  


“N-nothing,” Frisk said a little too quickly, pulling habitually at their sleeves. Like they were trying to hide their arms from him. It was blatantly obvious from just a cursory glance that there was an _infurating amount_ of things wrong, gauging just from the snow all over their wet clothes, the dirt and mud and clumps of frozen grass. The blood. Sans grabbed them by the forearms and they instantly hissed, and he drew up their sleeves to get a better look regardless of how they tried to pull away.

  
  


The _track_ marks. He'd forgotten about those. Almost. He felt more than a little disgusted looking at them, but more than that, he could see several angry red welts wrapping all around their wrists and arms. Similar to rope burn, precise and painful looking.

  
  


“What happened?” he insisted even as they tried to pull away, their cheeks colored as they looked away. “What happened, kid? How did you get hurt? What-”

  
  


And then he saw the thin, vicious rope like mark around their neck. He felt his marrow _boil_ and his hands started shaking again as he traced the welt across their throat, and they looked ready to cry again. He had a pretty good idea of what happened. But he wanted them to say it. He needed to _hear_ it. It wasn't hard to recognize vine marks like that. It practically _stank_ of that rancid little manure pile leech, every glance at those bruises all over Frisk, on _his_ kid, on _his_ human...

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm sorry,” they sputtered, flinching when he lifted his hand. “I'm sorry, I'm _sorry, please don't hurt me-!”_

  
  


“B-babybones,” he froze. “I'm... I'm not gonna hurt _you_ , okay?”

  
  


“Please don't be mad,” they covered their eyes with their palms, quivering as he held them closer. “I'm sorry, _please_...!”

  
  


“Shh, hey, hey...” he stroked their hair, holding his chin over their head so that they wouldn't see just how _furious_ he was that someone had hurt them. “Take it easy, okay? You don't have to be sorry. It's okay. I'm-I'm not _mad_ ,” he lied quietly. “Just... just tell me what happened.”

  
  


Frisk stiffened considerably and said nothing, but they didn't really have to say much.

  
  


“... It was that _fucking flower_ again, wasn't it?”

  
  


 

  
  


God he just didn't know when to stop pushing. Their shivering began anew, and he felt pretty certain that it wasn't just from the cold. He hated that he had let it slip, but at least from the way he held them they couldn't see the frothing rage burning his face. He had to get it together or he'd just wind up scaring them even more. Or worse.

  
  


He silently swore that when he found that little bastard he was going to _slow roast it over an open fire._

  
  


How had it even gotten to them? He thought he had been _careful_ , searching for any soul around. He sent out another magical pulse just in case, to see if he could sense its soul, but again found only Frisk's weakly beating soul against him. Was it really that _fast_? Could he not leave them alone for _five minutes_ without it trying to wreak havoc on his life? No use dragging the kid all over the places trying to find a pulse on its soul, wherever the hell it had gotten to.

  
  


“It's gonna be okay, babybones,” he hushed them gently. “It's all gonna be okay. I'm gonna take care of this-”

  
  


“I-it wasn't Flowey...” Frisk started, but he knew a lie when he heard one. “It w-was _my_ fault, I'm _sorry_ , please...!”

  
  


“Okay. Okay, kiddo,” he said in the same tense, terse tone before taking a long breath. “We're gonna go home. We're leaving. Okay?”

  
  


He glanced down and saw that they were barely holding back from crying, and he felt his soul ache at the sight. On second thought, slow roasting the weed was too good for it. Maybe force feeding it compost for a while would teach it a lesson, but he doubted it. He pulled Frisk a little closer, stepping instantly into a shortcut and vanishing from the world.

  
  


 

  
  


A short while later, a little flower protruded from the ground behind the sentry station, mulling quietly over the book that Sans had left behind. Something that could certainly prove its use in the future. Something that he could _use_.

  
  


“... Interesting.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“Just hold still for me. Okay?”

  
  


Frisk let out another hiss through their teeth as he wrapped a bandage around their wrists, covering up the welts as best he could. They sat before him on the couch as he knelt on the floor in front of them, the roll of gauze almost entirely used up.

  
  


“It stings...” they frowned, and he rubbed the top of their head softly.

  
  


“I know babybones,” Sans said quietly. “You didn't wander off this time, did you?”

  
  


Frisk shook their head quickly, eyes wide and lips pressed tightly together. Maybe they actually had listened to him this time, however doubtful. If that was the case, however, that implied that the weed had _actively_ come seeking them out. That was a nasty thought. Was he really going to have to stay on his guard until he finally managed to mulch that repulsive creature? Just the thought alone was tiring. He traced his finger bone lightly over the mark on their neck and they shuddered, causing him to flinch.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Maybe we can get something to cover that up,” he started uneasily, but they gently pressed his hand back over the mark with their fingertips.

  
  


“Can... can you make it feel better?” Frisk asked quietly. “... P-please? Please Sans, it-it really hurts...”

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


_Say no._

  
  


 

  
  


“I was _good_...” they pressed his hand a little tighter against the welt, even though they cringed again when they did so. “Please, Sans... I just-”

  
  


“I-I _can't_ ,” he tried desperately to explain, and tears started forming in their eyes again. They looked so betrayed, so _hurt_. And it was all that _damned weed's_ fault. He had to fight to control himself, taking a long, shuddering breath. “Are you... sure you can't just-just hide it for now?”

  
  


God, how he _hated_ himself.

  
  


They looked so let down, so _ashamed_ of themselves as they looked away. They were in pain, they were hurt, and here he was asking them to just hide it away and pretend that nothing was wrong.

  
  


_Like him._

  
  


 

  
  


… _Please forgive me for this, babybones._

  
  


“O... okay,” Sans said after a moment, gently placing his palms over their neck. “Okay, kiddo. Just... just hold _real_ still for me. Alright?”

  
  


Frisk nodded immediately, a strange look in their brown eyes. His gaze met theirs for a brief second as he tried to decipher exactly what that expression was-

  
  


-and he had to suddenly fight down the urge to reset, to _squeeze_.

  
  


He felt a rising sense of intense disgust at himself, and he couldn't hide his shaking hands from them any longer. God, what was _wrong_ with him?

  
  


He tried to clear his mind and closed his eye sockets, focusing. They needed help. They needed him.

  
  


_They need me._

  
  


Why was _that_ thought comforting, in particular? Wasn't he the one that was supposed to be comforting them? When had he gotten so damned _selfish_? Had he always been this way? _That_ was a little sobering. And from the lingering effects of the dog biscuits, he could use a little sobering. Or maybe a little less. He didn't need to be angry right now, he needed to hurry up and help them.

  
  


Sans realized that he had been sitting stock still for almost a full minute with his eye sockets squeezed shut, and he released an unsteady breath and focused on what healing magic he could muster. Thoughts of regeneration, of comforting and love filled his mind as green magic slowly began to trickle down his wrists and into his palms. It was hard to stay attentive. His head slowly drooped as it grew harder to focus, his bones feeling heavy as lead. He opened his eye sockets after a moment to check and saw that Frisk's eyes were slowly rolling, a small sliver of drool leaking from the side of their mouth.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Kiddo?” he rasped, pulling away instantly. Frisk shivered and pressed his hands harder against their neck, even though he had long since stopped healing them. The red welt was thankfully receded into a barely noticeable thin line, and they were shivering as they leaned into him.

  
  


“I was good?” Frisk murmured quietly.

  
  


“I-I, oh god,” he withdrew, repulsed at himself, causing them to look hurt. “Ohh, fuckin' _Christ_ , I-I'm so, so _sorry_ babybones-”

  
  


“Sans?”

  
  


“I'm _sorry_ ,” he choked, eye sockets stinging. “I'm sorry, _shit_ , I'm so sorry babybones.”

  
  


“Why?” Frisk searched his face for answers. “Sans?”

  
  


“I'm sorry...” Sans blubbered, drawing them into a hug so that they wouldn't see him breaking down. “I'm sorry, I-I'm sorry, I'm _so sorry Frisk.”_

  
  


“Sans?” they were starting to panic, that was the last thing that he wanted, if they panicked then he wouldn't be able to hide it anymore and _god what was wrong with him?_

  
  


 

  
  


“I c-can't do this anymore,” he felt like being sick, hardly able to notice that he was rocking slightly back and forth. “I-I just _can't_ , I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ kiddo. Oh god, oh _god_ help me. I'm sorry, I'm _so sorry_ I hurt you babyones-!”

  
  


“I'm not hurt...” Frisk started, but he was already stumbling off to the kitchen. He was so dizzy, so tired, so empty. He dug in the cabinet for a moment before popping the top off of the liquor, downing as much as he could muster. He chugged until the burn became almost unnoticeable. He was so bitter, so miserable, so _sick_.

  
  


“S-Sans...?”

  
  


He paused only for breath before finishing off half the bottle, sinking until he was sitting with his back against the cabinet, the bottle hanging from his fingers loosely until it fell to the side. He needed to stay calm, but how was he supposed to do that when every fiber of his being wanted to _scream_? He was falling apart in front of them, god it was _pathetic,_ couldn't he manage for at least a couple of minutes? His head was in his knees, his ribcage was still rattling, but at least it wasn't as noticeable as before. But them... _they_ were the ones doing this to _him_. He should just blame them. It would be easier. And he knew, no matter how hard he tried, that he just didn't have it in him to do that anymore. He felt the bottle being slowly pulled out of his grasp, but his grip was too loose to hold on anymore. He didn't _care_. So long as he could just stay numb, it was so much better than the alternative.

  
  


On second thought, perhaps smoking several dog biscuits and chugging half a bottle of hard cider hadn't been his _brightest_ idea.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Kid,” Sans muttered after what felt like an hour without opening his eyes to avoid seeing the spinning room. “You'd better not be doin' what I _think_ you're doin'.”

  
  


He heard a slight _popping_ noise and forced himself to crack an eye socket just in time to see Frisk pulling the bottle away from their lips, and he sighed heavily. He drunkenly tried to swipe the bottle from them, but they kept it just out of his reach. He gave up after a couple of tries, sighing again and closing his eyes.

  
  


 

  
  


“... P'pyrus is gonna fuckin' _kill_ me.”

  
  


“Papyrus doesn't have to know...” he heard them murmur quietly, and he could hear the slight slur in their voice. God, how he _hated_ himself. He just had to go and bring company to the pity party, wonderful. There was always that little nugget of information that haunted him. He didn't technically _have_ to tell Papyrus. Maybe it was just better to keep his brother in the dark.

  
  


Maybe Papyrus would know what to do to fix this. Papyrus always knew what to do.

  
  


_Nobody can help you._

  
  


_Nobody would ever help something like you._

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm... I'm so sorry,” San's croak came out in barely just above a whisper. “I'm sorry, babybones.”

  
  


“You don't have to be sorry,” Frisk said quietly, crawling into his lap and wrapping their arms around his neck. “Thank you. I feel... better.”

  
  


“Gimme th' bottle,” Sans opened his eye sockets against his better judgment, the room spinning even more vehemently than before. Frisk looked at him uncertainly before shakily handing it back to him. Instead of putting it away, Sans took another few swigs for good measure, letting the fiery liquid work its way down his throat before he woozily stuffed the topper back on. It fell from his hand and rolled a little away, but neither of them made to move it.

  
  


“... Kid, are-are you sniffing me.”

  
  


“You smell like smoke,” Frisk rubbed their head against his chest affectionately, settling down atop him. “... And ketchup.”

  
  


“You're a weird fuckin' kid, Frisky-bits.”

  
  


“I get that a lot.”

  
  


“You can't tell 'Pyrus,” Sans couldn't keep the slur out of his voice. “'kay?”

  
  


“B'cause he'd be real mad?”

  
  


“Because I fucked up,” Sans said quietly, holding them closely. “I'm... god, I'm so sorry. I messed up, I _really_ fucked up, Frisk.”

  
  


“What'cha mean?”

  
  


“I-” he felt like he was trying to speak with a golf ball in his throat, and he dry swallowed. “I don't even know how ta say it.”

  
  


“I get like that sometimes, too...” Frisk said softly. They were clinging to his jacket with one hand, stroking the top of his head with their other. Once again they were the one comforting him instead of the other way around, just one more thing to add to the daisy chain of fucked up things in his life that never should have been.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Frisk.” Sans finally managed to speak after a while. “I'm... I'm gonna ask you to... do something for me.”

  
  


They froze. After a moment however they resumed petting him and he felt them nod a little.

  
  


“O-okay.”

  
  


“D'you trust me?” he pried his aching eye sockets open. They swallowed and nodded again, and he let out a shuddering breath. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. I... I need to-to...”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, his head feeling heavy. Why was this so _difficult_?

  
  


“You know what your soul is, right?” he asked tensely. They nodded again, looking confused. “What I'm gonna ask y'to do, it's-it's, uh. Intimate.”

  
  


“... Intimate,” Frisk repeated slowly, as if they had never used the word.

  
  


“I'm-I'm gonna draw out your soul,” Sans explained as he shifted, moving them a little away from him and placing his palm over their chest. “I just... I just need ta check something real quick. It-it won't hurt, so don't-don't be scared. Okay, babybones?”

  
  


Frisk nodded worriedly, glancing back and forth for a moment before closing their eyes and leaning into his touch. They were so fully trusting of him. It hurt, it made his soul ache, he was possibly the least trustworthy creature in the world. How had someone as good and pure as Frisk wound up stuck with an abomination like him?

  
  


But maybe there was still hope. That tiny glimmer offered to him that he could just ignore everything and continue pretending that everything would turn out okay. He didn't need to know.

  
  


And that little niggling voice in the back of his head reminded him that, yes, he did. He'd never be able to rest otherwise. Maybe he didn't deserve rest. There were a lot of things that he didn't deserve. Frisk, for example. It was too late for that, though. Too late for a lot of things.

  
  


 

  
  


He made up his mind.

  
  


Frisk shuddered and shook for a moment as their soul was ever so slowly drawn out from their chest, floating through the air over his palm. He gazed at it in wonderment, marveling at how something so bright, so luminous and beautiful could be sitting in the palm of his hand when his own soul was so foul, so corrupted and cruel. He could feel the regretful tears stinging his eye sockets as he stared at it, looking at the little white spot in the _dead center_ of their soul. It really was too late for him. Too late for regrets. Too late for Frisk.

  
  


Too late for a lot of things.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	22. Momentary Reprieve

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans was drifting.

  
  


He was starting to get used to the feeling. He didn't like it, necessarily, but it wasn't all that uncomfortable. He felt like he was floating through a dark sea, and it didn't matter whether or not his eyes were opened or not anymore. All he could see was the dark. It was almost like rest, sans resting.

  
  


_Heheh. 'Sans' resting. Oh my god, focus._

  
  


His mind felt fuzzy and it was difficult to focus, but something drew his attention after a long while. He could hear a voice in the deep dark, like it was reaching out to him. He ever so slowly, gradually lifted a heavy arm, searching in response, cautiously, warily, hopefully.

  
  


 

  
  


“-And I'll _fucking kill you_ , you son of a _bitch_!”

  
  


Ah. So that's where the hangover went to. It wasn't great to have it back. He was actually starting to miss being blacked out just a little bit.

  
  


_No going back it is, then._

  
  


 

  
  


“Oh. Hey Chara,” Sans slurred calmly as he cracked open an aching eye socket, the cool tile of the kitchen floor cold against the back of his head. They were straddling his chest with their grip tight on his shoulders, barely tilting his head up to meet their gaze. For a very brief moment he caught a glimpse of their face, their sharp red eyes softening in what might have been relief. It was gone the next moment though, as it was overwhelmed by pure, unadulterated _rage_.

  
  


 

  
  


“What – did – you – _do?!”_ Chara screamed, accentuating their words by slamming his head against the floor.

  
  


“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow,” Sans repeated numbly, the pounding in his head only growing worse. “Yeah, no, it's fine. I totally wanted the migraine.”

  
  


“A headache's going to be the _least_ of your worries,” they growled at him, pausing.

  
  


And then they headbutted him.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans saw stars as he fell back against the floor, letting out a gasp of pain.

  
  


“Nope,” Sans wheezed after a minute had passed. “Pretty sure headache is _top_ priority right now.”

  
  


“What did you _do_ to me?” Chara grappled him by the neck when he tried to move, pinning him to the ground. “What the _fuck_ did you do?! Answer me you piece of shit, I'll _kill you!”_

  
  


“First of all, your whole allowance is going _straight_ to the swear jar,” he gave up trying to push them off after a couple of futile tries. It wasn't that they were particularly heavy, it was just that his limbs felt like jelly and it was _so_ much easier to give up. “Secondly, Jesus Christ my _head_! And thirdly,” Sans struggled again in their iron grip. “I'm... I'm not entirely sure.”

  
  


It wasn't exactly a lie.

  
  


It wasn't exactly the _truth_ , either, but at least it got them to stop shaking him like a skeletal rattle for a moment.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I'm gonna fix this,” Sans closed his eyes with a sigh. “I don't know how, but-but I'm gonna fix this.”

  
  


“Yeah, you'd _fucking better-!”_

  
  


Chara suddenly found it difficult to continue speaking with his fist clenched around their throat.

  
  


“... Last. Warning,” he released them quietly, causing them to shoot him a filthy glare. “Quit swearing.”

  
  


“Eat me.”

  
  


“Improvement,” he shrugged, falling back against the floor, letting the back of his skull hit the tile with an instantly regretted thunk. “... _Ow_. Right. So, as soon as I get over this _ungodly hangover_ , we're-we're gonna fix this.”

  
  


“Not before you tell me what you did to my _soul_!” Chara insisted loudly. Or maybe they were whispering and it just sounded like they were screaming. It was high time that he swore off alcohol. Not that he was likely to, but it was a nice thought.

  
  


“You mean Frisk's soul,” he corrected them. “At least, that's m'understanding of it. Unless you'd like ta clarify?”

  
  


Chara's lips tightened.

  
  


 

  
  


“That's what I thought,” he shrugged again. “Now would you mind doing me a solid and get off?”

  
  


“I'm not doing _jack_ until you tell me what you did!” Chara's hands found their way to his throat. Their breathing was heavy and uneven, their brows knitted tightly together in a vengeful scowl. “I hate you, I _hate_ you, I-I... I could... I could _kill_ you right now.”

  
  


“Could you now.”

  
  


 

  
  


They froze.

  
  


He said it so calmly, so casually. And he did it with a blank, even smile, the lights in his eye sockets gone completely. He didn't move, didn't blink, didn't breathe. His grin was just too wide, too unnatural, and Chara's expression slowly shifted from one of anger to that of uncertainty, of nervousness.

  
  


All it took was a flicker of blue in his left eye to cause them to completely break down.

  
  


They were off of him in a heartbeat, scampering on their hands as they kicked away fearfully until they were pressed against the wall, almost hyperventilating, red eyes wide with terror.

  
  


He felt horrible, he felt like being sick, he felt like _scum_ , but at least they got the message. He closed his eye sockets for a moment and extinguished the magical fire in his eye, taking a long, slow breath before sitting up until his back was against the cabinet. When he finally opened his eye sockets he saw that Chara was crying silently, pressed tightly against the wall like they were trying to phase through it. They just looked so... bitter. So unhappy.

  
  


_Way to go. You succeeded in making a small child cry out of fear._

  
  


… _Prick._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans groaned and hid his eye sockets in his palms, letting out another sigh.

  
  


“... Look,” he said after a moment, running a hand over the top of his head. “Just... don't freak out. We – I'm gonna fix this. We're gonna sit down, we're gonna have some... I dunno, fuckin' tea or somethin', and we're gonna discuss this like calm, rational adults.”

  
  


“I'm not an adult,” Chara pouted, sniffing msierably.

  
  


“... _Fuck_ ,” Sans shuddered, covering his face again. “Okay. Okay, fine. Like calm, rational _people_ who don't try to _kill_ each other at any given opportunity. You wanna talk, fine. We're gonna talk. Just don't freak out. _Capiche_?”

  
  


Chara responded by hatefully flipping him the bird.

  
  


“... Getting real sick of your shit, kid.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


It took a while for Chara to calm down.

  
  


Perhaps 'calm' was too strong of a word.

  
  


At the very least they had stopped threatening to stab him as loudly as before.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans quietly placed the steaming mug of tea in their waiting hands, Chara's eyes hidden behind their hair. He was really starting to miss Frisk. He missed hearing Frisk's soft voice. He missed seeing Frisk's hopeful eyes. Chara's constantly narrowed red ones were... unnerving. Did he take them for granted? He felt like he did. The next time that Frisk was back he was going to hug the living daylights out of them.

  
  


 

  
  


“O-kay,” Sans murmured more to himself than anything as he slowly sat down beside them, his own untouched mug between his still trembling phalanges. “Okay, kiddo. This is, uh. This is gonna be... hard to explain. 'specially since I'm still kinda hungover, and your little game of playin' basketball with my head ain't helpin' matters any.”

  
  


“What did you do,” Chara frowned, staring down into their mug. “How about you start with that.”

  
  


“Okay...” he said again, rubbing his temples with one hand. He took a sip of his tea and almost spit it out. “Blech. Golden flower tea. Dunno why Undyne keeps dropping this crap off, pretty sure neither me or Paps even drinks it.”

  
  


“Can you _fucking focus?!”_

  
  


Sans's head _snapped_ toward them, and they cringed instantly.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You need to _chill_ ,” Sans said after a moment, setting his tea down and digging in his inner jacket pocket for a few moments. “Because I'm gonna tell you some heavy stuff, and I really, _really_ don't want you to freak out any more than you already are.”

  
  


He produced from his pocket a slightly crumbled dog biscuit and held it out to them. Chara stared at him as if he were stupid.

  
  


“What am I supposed to do with this?”

  
  


“What do you think?”

  
  


Chara started to bite into it before he snatched it away, ignoring their indignant protests.

  
  


 

  
  


“Gimme a sec,” he rolled his eye lights and reached into his pockets again before producing an old flip lighter. He lit the tip of the dog biscuit and inhaled deeply before passing it to Chara, who looked back and forth between the biscuit and the skeleton in disbelief. “I figure I'm already goin' to hell, so, y'know, screw it. Just take a breath like I did.”

  
  


Chara frowned deeper and stuck the dog biscuit between their lips. They tried to breathe in and immediately started hacking and coughing, almost dropping it a couple of times.

  
  


“Eh. You'll get used to it. _Shit_ , on second thought,” he clapped a hand to his forehead. “You are _not_ getting used to it, this is a _one time_ thing because I think what we both _really_ need is a momentary reprieve. Capiche?”

  
  


Chara responded by coughing up a lungful of smoke again.

  
  


Sans sighed and motioned for them to pass it back, and he carefully showed them this time.

  
  


 

  
  


“You gotta breathe in slow. A'ight? Take in a deep breath and hold it 'til you can't anymore, then let it out slow. Try it like that,” he handed the smoking biscuit back after his display. Chara nodded once and gave it a couple of experimental puffs, more slowly this time and managed to keep from coughing except for a couple of sputters.

  
  


“... What am I doing,” Sans mumbled into his hands when they had smoked most of the biscuit. “Oh god, I can't believe this is happening. Every time I hit rock bottom I gotta dig myself a deeper grave. What in the actual _fuck_ am I doing with my life.”

  
  


“Not much, apparently.”

  
  


“Don't get salty with _me_ , punk,” Sans sighed again, finishing off the biscuit and putting it out in the ashtray next to the couch. “Alright. Okay. Okay, so. We gotta talk.”

  
  


“... Sans.”

  
  


“Yeah, kid.”

  
  


“I... I feel... funny.”

  
  


“You're also gonna find it kinda difficult to panic for a little bit,” Sans informed them quietly, turning to face them. If he thought that their eyes were red before it was a severe understatement compared to now. “Which is good, considering that I think our souls might be kinda... bonded?”

  
  


“... What.”

  
  


“See?” he reclined a little, folding his hands behind his head. “Significantly calmer-”

  
  


 

  
  


Once again, Sans found Chara's hands around his neck, and he discovered that he was getting really sick of the feeling. They were grappling him tightly as they straddled him, fury plain on their features as the mindless scream bounced around the room.

  
  


“ _Say that again_ ,” Chara seethed, eyes narrowed to bloodshot dangerous slits.

  
  


“So much for 'calmer', I guess.”

  
  


“About the _souls_!” they shouted, and he flinched. His head was still pounding painfully, although the dog biscuit had helped a little bit. “What the _hell_ do you mean, _'bonded'?!”_

  
  


“Kid,” Sans slowly placed his hands on their shoulders and pushed them away a little. “Don't make me tell you twice to get off me.”

  
  


“Funny, usually it's get me off, not get off me-”

  
  


 

  
  


Chara's mouth slammed shut and their cheeks flooded with even more color than they already were as they glanced away, unable to meet his gaze. Sans was dead silent for a moment, and he found it difficult to breathe.

  
  


After a moment, he slowly, carefully leaned forward and pulled them into a hug, wrapping his arms as gently as he could around them.

  
  


“... You've been through some shit too, huh, kid.”

  
  


Chara didn't answer. They didn't particularly need to. They'd already said enough.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I'm gonna fix this, babybones,” he couldn't find it in himself to raise his voice above a whisper. “Just... just trust me. Okay? I promise. I'm gonna fix this.”

  
  


“How?” Chara mumbled, their voice unsteady, dropping their face into his shoulder in defeat. “How can you possibly fix something like this?”

  
  


“It's... it's gonna take some work. A _lot_ of work. And before that, there's... there's some things I gotta know.”

  
  


“Whatever,” he felt Chara shrug, but they didn't pull away. “I don't care anymore. Just... tell me what you need to know.”

  
  


“Tell you what. We'll swap stories. If we're gonna fix this, there's some things that... that both of us need to know. So. Let's just... start at the beginning.”

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


“Okay,” Sans began quietly. “Let's... start at the beginning. I guess we'll work our way up to the soul stuff afterwards. Just... start at the beginning.”

  
  


“Why don't you?” they asked snappishly.

  
  


“Kid, now is not the time to be saucy,” Sans frowned, folding his arms over one another. “I'll tell you my side of the story if you tell me yours n' Frisk's. I just... just gotta work up the nerve.”

  
  


“I _can't_ -” Chara started uncomfortably, looking away into their drink for a moment. “I can't tell you Frisk's side of the story.”

  
  


“Why not?”

  
  


“Because they don't want me to,” they replied bluntly. “I don't want to speak on the issue anyway, it's... it's just _bad_. Alright? And they're sure as hell never going to speak about it, so you'll just have to get over _not_ knowing.”

  
  


“Yeah, and maybe you can _shove_ -” Sans started before biting his tongue, taking a deep breath. God, they _irritated_ him so easily. “... Alright,” he said through his teeth after half a minute had passed. “If Frisk wants ta talk about it, they'll do it when they're ready. Tell me your story, kid.”

  
  


 

  
  


“I climbed up Mount Ebott, tripped and fell in and died. The end. Your turn,” Chara turned to him to witness what might have been the most _withering_ glare that they had ever seen from him. They cringed and looked away, swirling their tea around for a bit without drinking. Their lips were pursed tightly and they wouldn't look directly at him. “Ugh. My head feels weird. That's all that happened. Boring stuff.”

  
  


“You're gonna have to try a little harder than that,” Sans leaned back into the couch, not taking his eye sockets off of them. “You think I can't tell when somebody is lyin' through their teeth?”

  
  


“How do you know?” Chara asked somewhat bitterly.

  
  


“Because I spend every day of my life lying through my teeth and I know what it looks like when I see it,” he responded quietly. “So how's about you take the second chance I'm giving you and try again?”

  
  


“... _Fine_ ,” they spat, slamming down their drink on the coffee table and drawing their legs up underneath them. “Fine. You really wanna know? Don't come crying to me when you-” they paused for a moment, chewing their bottom lip, still not looking at him. They were glaring straight ahead with a thousand yard stare, holding their knees close to them and looking off somewhere beyond the wall. Sans didn't push them to hurry. He certainly wasn't in a hurry, either.

  
  


 

  
  


“... My dad hated me,” Chara began quietly, closing their eyes. “Said that I was an unholy demon spawn.”

  
  


“Daddy issues, man.”

  
  


“Eat a chode,” their eyes snapped open, giving him a filthy look. He only shrugged.

  
  


“Just sayin' that I can relate, that's all.”

  
  


“Oh, _oh. Can_ you, now?” Chara asked more than a little mockingly. “Did _your_ father make you wear a blindfold so that he wouldn't have to look you in the eyes while he and your uncles took turns on you?”

  
  


Sans didn't respond.

  
  


“That's what I thought,” they said huffily, closing their eyes again and taking an unsteady breath. Fists clenched and unclenched at their sweater before their grip on their legs tightened. They opened and closed their mouth a couple of times before scrunching up their brows, turning away. They flinched when they found Sans's hand on their shoulder.

  
  


 

  
  


“I don't do physical contact...” Chara grumbled, but didn't move to shrug him off.

  
  


“I don't think that's entirely true,” Sans said slowly. “You're kinda grabby, actually. Might just be affection that you have a problem with.”

  
  


For some reason Chara's cheeks heated considerably and they stared down at their knees, squeezing them tighter against themselves. Sans sighed and withdrew after a moment.

“I'll kill you if I have to,” they fumed under their breath.

 

  
  


“... You don't gotta keep goin', if you don't wanna,” Sans said when a few arduously silent minutes had passed.

  
  


“... I stabbed him.”

  
  


Sans froze.

  
  


“In... in his sleep,” Chara admitted softly, closing their eyes again. “I took his k-knife, and I ran. I stole food for a while. They chased me out of the village a little after that. Called me a... freak. A demon,” they took another slow breath. “Said that everyone would be better off if-if the monsters just took me.”

  
  


“That's... how you wound up at Mount Ebott?”

  
  


“I was out of options,” they responded simply. Chara refused to look anywhere but their knees at this point. “I couldn't go back. Couldn't hide anymore. I figured that monsters couldn't possibly be worse than humans.”

  
  


“You went _looking_ for monsters.”

  
  


“Pretty much,” they shrugged without looking at him. “After I fell, I... I met monsters. They were... they were the best people that I ever met,” Chara finished with difficulty.

  
  


“... So what happened?”

  
  


 

  
  


They took another shaky breath, and he noticed that although their face was almost entirely devoid of expression, their hands and knees were shaking terribly.

  
  


“... Can I... can I have another?” Chara asked after a couple of minutes. “Another biscuit?”

  
  


“Dunno if that's a great idea-”

  
  


“I'll tell you the rest of the story,” they bargained. “We both know you're too damned curious for your own good. You're obnoxiously stubborn and we both know it. You'll just keep pressing until you get the rest of the story, will you not?”

  
  


“I already said,” Sans answered quietly, reaching out and placing a hand slowly over theirs. “If... if you wanna stop, then we'll stop.”

  
  


Chara, for a very brief moment, looked as if they were seriously considering his offer. Like they were afraid to even believe him. After another moment however they looked away back down at their knees, shaking their head and holding out their hand.

  
  


 

  
  


“Just... just give me the goddamned biscuit already. I'll... I'll be _good_.”

  
  


Sans sighed and caved in, withdrawing long enough to pull one of his last dog biscuits from his pocket. He lit the tip for them and passed it to them, and they greedily tried to suck in as much as they could only to hack and cough again.

  
  


“You really don't learn your lesson, huh,” Sans mused aloud. Chara gave him a foul look, but didn't speak until they had taken several puffs. They let out a steady stream of smoke through their lips before handing the biscuit back to him, looking about a million miles away.

  
  


“... I accidentally got my brother killed.”

  
  


“Yikes,” Sans cringed. He glanced away for a moment, just trying to imagine himself in that position. Of what might have happened to Papyrus if he had...

  
  


Suddenly the dog biscuit seemed much more appealing.

  
  


 

  
  


He took a long, slow drag and blew out a smoke ring through his nostril bone. It was making the whole situation a lot simpler to handle. Not easier, by any stretch. But simpler.

  
  


“He was... god, he was such a little _crybaby_ ,” Chara scoffed, but their was an odd expression on their face. It was like a mixture of fondness, gentleness that he usually only saw on Frisk and deep sadness that he knew all too well. “Seriously, he would cry over the tiniest little things. If I stepped on his toe, if I made fun of his drawings, if I pretended to forget his birthday. Such a wuss.”

  
  


“You sure have a weird way of complimenting people,” Sans said with a soft little grin.

  
  


“ _Please_ , like I ever complimented him,” Chara scoffed again. The froze, looking... disgusted maybe? Or disappointed? “I... I never complimented him. Not... not even _once_.”

  
  


They suddenly hid their face in their hands, curling in on themselves even further. Sans gently rubbed their back between their shoulder blades with the palm of his hand, giving them time. It was instinctual, he half expected them to snap at him for touching them but Chara was quiet. He silently put out the stub of dog biscuit with his other, sticking his hand back into his pocket, thinking.

  
  


 

  
  


“... It... it was my fault,” Chara said through their fingers after a while, their voice uneven. “I m-made him go along with my plan.”

  
  


“What plan?”

  
  


“We... we were going to save everyone,” Chara groaned. “And he had to go and _fuck everything up.”_

  
  


“That doesn't really clarify anything...”

  
  


“Our _plan_ ,” they explained. “To cross the barrier and collect enough human souls to tear it down forever.”

  
  


“... Wait.”

  
  


“I wanted to burn that _whole fucking village_ to the _ground_ ,” Chara said bitterly, rocking back and forth. “And he wouldn't _let_ me. He wouldn't _let_ me. Just because he didn't want to _hurt_ anybody. And they... they _killed_ us. He just carried my body all the way back to Dad's garden.”

  
  


_Our plan._

  
  


_My body._

  
  


_Human souls._

  
  


_Killed us._

  
  


 

  
  


Just how common of a human name was ' _Chara_ ', anyway?

  
  


“... Oh god,” Sans said after a moment, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as it finally clicked. He was so painfully, unbearably stupid. “Oh, god. Oh, holy _shit_ , I _know_ you!”

  
  


Chara didn't look at him.

  
  


“You're... Chara. _The_ Chara. Like, the _actual_ Chara. _That_ Chara? The first one to fall. Chara motherfucking _Dreemurr_.”

  
  


“Ee-yep.”

  
  


“But that means-”

  
  


“Ee-yep.”

  
  


“But that means your _brother_ was-”

  
  


“Ee-yuh-huh.”

  
  


“And your _dad_ is-”

  
  


“You got it.”

  
  


“ _Ho~ly shit,”_ Sans let out a weary breath, running his hand over the top of his head. He found himself quietly thinking that he was still way, way too sober for this. He felt ignorant and stupid for not putting it together, like puzzle pieces were only coming together because he had been too dumb to fit them before. But that had been so long...

  
  


“So now you know,” Chara shrugged eventually. “I'm done talking. I don't wanna... I just don't. I'm done.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans took in a long, slow breath, still trying to decipher exactly the best way to deal with this new information.

  
  


“Your turn.”

  
  


Sans froze. He felt his breath catch in his chest, the tightness growing until he couldn't quite bring himself to breathe properly.

  
  


“I... I still have questions,” he delayed, his head felt fuzzy. “God, I have so many more _questions_. You're alive? Sort of? _How_...? How the _hell_ are you alive?”

  
  


“I'm _very_ determined,” Chara responded simply, not looking him in the eye sockets.

  
  


“None of this makes sense...” Sans held his head in his hands. “What in the flying blue hell are you doing inside of _Frisk_?”

  
  


“I already told you that I'm done talking,” Chara crossed their arms, somewhat huffily. “Now spill.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans gave them a level, awkward look for a moment before closing his eye sockets, letting out a quiet sigh. He didn't want to do this. He got what he wanted out of them, he shouldn't have to say anything. It wasn't fair, he didn't want to.

_Dirty brother killer fuck that little brat-_

Sans shook his head, groaning.

  
  


“... This never should have happened,” he said eventually. “This... I don't even know what to call it. Us. The soul thing. It shouldn't be possible. Maybe... I dunno, maybe it's because I'm... not a real monster.”

  
  


“Now you're starting to sound like Frisk,” they snorted. “With your 'I'm not a real person' crap.”

  
  


“You... you don't quite get it,” Sans said with some difficulty. “Let me ask you a question. You know where babies come from, right?”

  
  


Chara stared at him as though he were stupid. From how long they held it, it was likely that they believed it, too.

  
  


 

  
  


“... So is that a yes?”

  
  


“Uh, duh?” they blinked. “You get it up with your mouth, some gross guy jams it in and splooges and then a baby comes out.”

  
  


“... Humans are kinda disgusting,” Sans shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “I was, uh, talking about monster babies.”

  
  


“... Oh,” Chara said simply, glancing away. “Why don't you refresh my memory.”

  
  


“Well,” he said with a bit of difficulty. “Normally, when two monsters love each other very much, they, uh, bare their souls to each other. Sometimes it's an egg, sometimes the male carries the child, it can vary from monster to monster. Me an' Paps were... I wasn't, eh, technically _born_. Not in the traditional sense.”

  
  


Chara rolled their hand through the air, staring at him. His teeth were clenched tightly and he couldn't quite meet their gaze. Why was this so difficult?

  
  


Sans sighed again and dug in his pocket, withdrawing with his final dog biscuit.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Really need to go see Gerson again,” he muttered more to himself than anything as he lit it and took yet another drag. “Pick up some more.”

  
  


“Why do you even smoke those things?”

  
  


“I... get the shakes,” Sans frowned, blowing out a small cloud of smoke. “You ever have a nightmare so bad, that you wake up in a cold sweat and can't sleep for days afterwards?”

  
  


Chara didn't answer.

  
  


“It helps,” he continued, blowing out another cloud. “It just _helps_ , okay? I... I need to stay calm.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans took in a few long breaths, his head feeling heavy. He didn't _have_ to tell them. On second thought, the obnoxious little runt didn't even deserve to know, they were a murderous psychopath anyway. He didn't have to tell them anything. He didn't necessarily _want_ to tell them anything. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to _remember_. All he wanted was to just stay numb for a bit longer.

  
  


“I was... me and Paps,” Sans started after a while, staring down at his hands after he finished off the biscuit. He felt fuzzy, light and heavy at the same time. So long as he could just stay numb for a while, nothing else mattered. Couldn't stop his hands from shaking, though. “Me and Paps, we were never technically born. We were _made_.”

  
  


“What does that even mean?” they asked, curling up on the couch next to him and tucking their hands into their sleeves.

  
  


“We were... _grown_ ,” he said after a bit. “My dad, uh, never thought that the traditional method of creating new monsters was worth it. So he... took bits of himself,” Sans mimed with his hands, drawing circles over his palm with one forefinger. “Made us from parts of him, and grew us. In test tubes.”

  
  


“He cut off parts of himself to make you,” Chara repeated slowly.

  
  


“Me and Paps were the lucky ones. God _help_ me. I don't think I can ever get the sight of the failed experiments out of my head. The... the things that didn't make it,” he continued quietly, unable to supress a shudder. “Not quite monster, any of us. And... and he started to... _lose_ himself,” Sans's phalanges clicked together nervously as he stared down into his hands. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to remember. Not that. Anything else but that.

  
  


 

  
  


“He... he got worse,” Sans explained softly. “Just kept using us for his sick, twisted _fucking experiments_. He-he did things. To... to our heads. Made us see things that weren't there. But he... he hurt Paps. He hurt him bad, so, so much more than me.”

  
  


“... What happened?”

  
  


“He made us see things that no living creature was ever meant to see,” Sans finished, closing his eyes. “I still see it, sometimes. When I'm alone. When I'm in the dark. Watching time and space fold in on itself too many times, it-it _changes_ you. I think that's why he kept using us, because he'd experimented on himself a few times too many. That's my theory, anyway. God _dammit,_ I-I need another smoke,” Sans blurted and patted down his jacket uselessly, his hands shaking.

  
  


“Do... do you want to stop?” Chara asked gently. _Gently_. That was... upsetting for several reasons. It threw him off possibly more than trying to speak had. Their hand slowly made its way over to his trembling one, and they traced invisible patterns over his phalanges with their thumb. Once again they were the one comforting him when they had clearly drawn the shorter straw. Frisk was definitely a weird kid.

  
  


Except, he had to remind himself, that _this_ wasn't Frisk. Maybe that was a good thing. He wasn't certain that he could ever tell Frisk the things that he had just shared. Maybe not _ever_. But this other one, Chara... maybe he could tell them some things, but not Frisk. None of that made sense except in the furthest, most jumbled reaches of his mind. Everything was just so _bananas_.

  
  


 

  
  


“I think... I think it's good to just finally get it out,” he laughed shakily. “I can't let Papyrus know.”

  
  


“He doesn't remember?”

  
  


“I told you,” Sans said bitterly. “He did things to our heads. Paps got the worst of it. _Broke_ him. Made him... different. He was in a bad way for... for a long time.”

  
  


“I... I'm sorry.”

  
  


“Fuhgeddaboudit,” Sans shrugged, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees again, turning a little to face them. “I'm tryin' to. Can't change any of it. Old bastard is worse than dead, now.”

  
  


“How can you be _worse_ than dead?”

  
  


“Dabbled in things he didn't fully understand,” he felt a wry grin slowly creep onto his face. “He kept us weak to keep us from running away. 'Cept I learned from my mistakes. He didn't. I... I made sure that there was no way he would hunt us down afterwards. You're not the only one to bump off your dad, y'know.”

  
  


They sat in silence for a long while, but they didn't release his hand either. Their tea was already long since cold, but neither of them cared.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You still haven't told me about the souls,” Chara said after a long stretch of silence. He mentally kicked himself for almost falling asleep again.

  
  


“Right,” he shifted uncomfortably. “I'm... I'm not entirely certain how this happened,” Sans tried to withdraw, but their grip was like iron and he gave up a moment later. Wasn't worth fighting over. Part of him didn't really want to let go, anyway. “Humans and monsters can't bond. It's just not _possible_. Maybe it's because of... of what I am? Fuck if I know.”

  
  


“And what do you think you are, exactly?”

  
  


“An _abomination_?” he scoffed bitterly, looking away. “God. I-I'm so, so _sorry_ kiddo. I royally _fucked_ us this time.”

  
  


“Let's just consider how to deal with this and then you can... undo it,” their frown became a little more pronounced. “How do you even fix something like this?”

  
  


“I wish I knew,” Sans ran a hand over the top of his head. He felt clammy and weak, but Chara still wouldn't let go. “I... I dunno what to do. Something like this has never happened before. I don't even know if I can manage it by myself.”

  
  


“So don't do it by yourself,” Chara said as if it were obvious. “How often to monsters divorce?”

  
  


“Oh _Christ_ please don't phrase it like that,” Sans cringed openly.

  
  


“Well, obviously it _happens_...” they shrugged. “I mean, nobody is perfect, it _has_ to have happened before. Actually, I'm _sure_ that it's happened before. I don't know about the soul thing, but I do know one person who would know.”

  
  


“Like who?”

  
  


“... Asgore.”

  
  


 

  
  


That thought was, quite possibly, even more terrifying.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	23. No Rest For The Wicked

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“No, no, and no, _absolutely_ not, _hell_ no!”

  
  


God, how he _hated_ that dejected, disappointed and upset look on their face. He hated himself more, though. He couldn't just... let them _go_. Not _now_. It was too late for that.

  
  


“Why not?” Chara scowled at him.

  
  


“Why do you _think_?” Sans sputtered, wracking his mind. “You think King Asgore will just want to sit down for tea and frickin' biscuits? He'll _kill_ you, kiddo!”

  
  


“Maybe I could talk to him?” Chara frowned, shifting uncomfortably beneath his gaze. “He's not unreasonable-”

  
  


“Unreasonable,” he scoffed. “Kid. Babybones,” he said slowly. “Do you even know what happened to all of the _other_ kids that fell down here?”

  
  


Chara didn't seem to have a response for that.

  
  


 

  
  


“I... I had to watch them go,” Sans said slowly, looking away and folding his hands over one another. “Each and every one of them. I watched them all march right into Asgore's hands. You think I don't _regret_ that? You think I'm not fucking haunted by that every single day of my _life_? I-I can't let that happen to you too, babybones. I just... I just _can't.”_

  
  


“... Other... other kids?”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans's marrow froze. He'd said too much, he'd said far, _far_ too much, and he was struck with the sudden urge to try to take it back, to stop, to just _reset_.

  
  


And even if he did, they would remember. It wouldn't do any good. They would still _know_.

  
  


“... _Shit_ ,” Sans wiped a hand down his face, sighing. “Kiddo, please. I'm... I'm all burned out. You wanna talk, that's fine. But I can't let you go to Asgore. You won't... you won't _make_ it. Please, babybones.”

  
  


Chara didn't respond immediately, they just curled their legs up underneath them and stared off into the distance. Sans sighed again and placed a hand on their shoulder for a moment, as if he could transfer everything that he wished to tell them with only a simple touch. Chara only let out a slow breath through their nostrils, closing their eyes and tilting their head down.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Look,” Sans said after a bit, rolling his thumb gently over their shoulder. “We're... we're both kinda toasted right now. Let's just take a bit and unwind, okay? Just... just _trust_ me. It's not a good idea to make potentially life changing decisions when-”

  
  


“Oh, what do you know?” Chara snapped angrily, crossing their arms.

  
  


“I know enough to keep you from getting _killed_!”

  
  


“Like I haven't died _before_!” they shouted back at him, standing on the sofa cushions so that they were a little higher than him. The anger was plain on their face and even more so in their voice, wavering and furious. “What's your deal?”

  
  


“What the _fuck_ do you think?” his voice was steadily rising as he stood, clenching and unclenching his hands in his jacket pockets. “You think it's just-just gonna be all candy and gumdrops?”

  
  


“I didn't say it was going to be easy! I'm actually trying to fix _your_ fuckups!”

  
  


“I can fix this without sending _you_ on a goddamned _suicide_ mission!”

  
  


“Like you care about how many times I die!”

  
  


“I can't fucking LOSE you anymore!”

  
  


 

  
  


San's voice caught in his throat as he realized just how loud they had grown. He flinched and curled away into himself, his eye sockets stinging as he tried to take a few long, shaky breaths. He patted himself down uselessly, resorting to stuffing his fists uselessly back into his pockets. He felt like being sick. They were staring at him, he _knew_ they were and he couldn't bear it.

  
  


“... B-babybones,” he said quietly, standing directly in front of them so that he could take their hand. They looked like they wanted nothing more than to hit him; maybe he deserved it. “Kiddo. Please. Please listen to me. I-I can't... I can't lose you again. Just the thought of you getting hurt when I could have done something, anything to _stop_ it scares the living daylights outta me. _Please_ , babybones.”

  
  


Chara had a very strange expression on their features that he couldn't quite place. A small part of him really didn't want to. He wanted them to understand, to just pay attention for once, to realize just how badly their actions were hurting him.

  
  


And it slowly dawned on him that maybe, just maybe he should have been paying attention to how badly _he_ was the one hurting _them_.

  
  


 

  
  


He released them finally, slowly, slipping away and turning away so that they wouldn't see the outright despair clawing its way onto his face. He had to keep it together. Had to stay calm. Even that seemed like such a pointless, futile effort. There was no point, really. No point to anything.

  
  


“... Do whatever you want,” Sans said softly, trying to keep from choking up. He couldn't face them, couldn't look them in the eyes anymore. Couldn't bear the thought of seeing that disappointment directed at him. The rage and disgust that didn't belong on Frisk's face. There was no point. No purpose or rhyme or reason to anything that they did. They were all going to die anyway. There was no hope. It was all just so pointless. “... Not like I could stop you anyway.”

  
  


 

  
  


He heard them try to speak, but it didn't even register as he fell into the shortcut.

  
  


His mattress was always there for him, at least.

  
  


 

  
  


He didn't have it in him to cry. Not anymore. He was just so drained, so hollow, so damned _empty_. He really was a miserable creature. He was so tired. So very, very tired. And it slowly registered in the back of his mind, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, that there was no amount of sleep that would ever truly relieve him of his eternal exhaustion. Kind of funny, even if he didn't have it in him to laugh anymore. Even if he dusted and tried to sleep forever, somehow he would always find himself back in this torment with no way out. It was all so meaningless.

  
  


Sans ever so slowly placed a palm over his aching chest, using what little magic he could muster to draw out his soul.

  
  


It was beating, but just barely. It looked so thin, so pale, so _frail_ , like he was about to fall apart at a moment's notice. He didn't care. And then he discovered something that only served to cause him to sink further into his den of despair.

  
  


In the dead center of his soul was a tiny sliver of red.

  
  


 

  
  


He felt like choking as his soul sank back into his chest, the darkness of the room swarming around him. Frisk (Chara, Frisk, maybe that didn't even matter either) was going to leave. And then they were going to die, and die, and die, and he would be forced to live through the resets each and every time. Maybe that's what he deserved. There was no rest for the wicked.

  
  


_Just let me die. Please. I give up. Just let it end._

  
  


_I just want to rest. I'm done._

_I give up._

_You win._

  
  


_Just let it end._

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans?” he heard Papyrus knocking gently at the door. “Sans, please. It's me. I-I brought spaghetti,” Papyrus had a hopeful chirrup to his voice, but it was clearly forced. “Brother?”

  
  


Sans didn't respond.

  
  


“I'll... I'll just leave it out here by the door,” Papyrus said just loudly enough for him to hear. Sans didn't care. He didn't have it in him to care anymore. Kid was probably gone already. It felt like a reset had happened. Had it? He couldn't really tell at this point. His mind was fuzzy, his thoughts chaotic. All he knew was the paint of his wallpaper that he rarely opened his eye sockets long enough to stare at when he couldn't sleep anymore. It wasn't like sleep would come easily. Even when all he wanted was rest, he was denied at every turn. There was no point. There was no purpose. How many days had it been? Maybe it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

  
  


_Just let it end._

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


His head was pounding, hard. Sans covered his eye sockets with his palms, letting out a quiet sigh. All he wanted was rest. He just wanted it to _stop_. He just wanted it to end. He just wanted it to be over, he was so, so sick of just _living_. It took too much effort, too much work, and what was the _point_? He felt like he was being watched even though he was completely alone, and even though he hated the feeling he just didn't have it in him anymore to care. Eventually everyone that he loved would be ripped away from him again, torn back in time to a world where none of them remembered anything. He felt like being sick. It was so pointless. It was-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


The world reset.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans cringed instinctively, gasping at the tightness in his chest. Had that really happened? Had it _been_ happening? He blinked woozily, feeling like being ill overwhelming all else. He was sick into the wastebasket beside his bed, coughing and sputtering miserably as he clutched uselessly at his sheets. Hadn't he done that before. His head was ringing. It was painful, it was too _intense_ , reliving the memories crashing through his head all at once. If he thought that the pounding in his head was bad before-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans bolted upright, his head reeling. How many resets had just happened? There were too many, _way_ too many to count, in too rapid succession to even keep track of.

  
  


Frisk.

  
  


The goddamned _flower_.

  
  


 

  
  


Someone was hurting Frisk, and god help them he was going to rip them _limb from limb_. He couldn't think, couldn't _focus_ , it took all of his mental energy to push himself out of bed. He angrily fell to his knees, feeling clammy and weak, gasping for breath as he tried to push himself up onto his knees. When had he gotten so weak? The room was spinning violently, and he sent out a wavering magical pulse to see if he could sense Frisk's soul. That alone was enough to drain him. He needed to find them and fast, they were hurt, they were in danger-!

  
  


 

  
  


… They were still in the house.

  
  


 

  
  


San blinked, narrowing his focus to a pinpoint and slipping into a shortcut. He fell through the infinite for less than a fraction of a millisecond, air displaced around him as he reentered the world, stepping barefoot into the kitchen.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Frisk?”

  
  


His voice came out raspy and weak, and he wanted to let his knees buckle at the sight as a cold chill ran up his spine. Frisk was kneeling, sobbing hysterically on the floor, their sleeves rolled up with a large, sharp knife in one hand, blood dripping down their forearms and onto the floor in a little pool.

  
  


“Shit!” Sans tripped over himself to rush to their side, panic violently pushing its way into his throat. He yanked the knife out of their trembling hands and threw it away, not even caring that he was stepping in blood. “Shit, shit _shit_ kiddo!”

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk hiccuped, holding their injured arms close to themselves. “I'm sorry, I'm _sorry_ Sans, _please don't die!”_

  
  


“Okay, okay, I promise,” he spluttered immediately, holding their arms out to see the damage. Long, thin vicious cuts ran up and down their arms seemingly at random, he didn't know what to _do...!_

  
  


 

  
  


“PAPYRUS!” he screamed, whipping his head towards the living room. “ _Paps_! Help – fuck, _help!_ 'Pyrus, I need _help_!”

  
  


... But nobody came.

_He's dead he's dead he's not coming because he's dead it's your fault he's dead you didn't save him it's their fault they killed him snap their neck he's dead oh god please not again save the kid gotta find him save the kid-_

“I'm s-sorry,” Frisk cried as he held them, his whole body shaking almost as much as them. “I'm so sorry, I d-d-deserve it-”

  
  


“No, no no _no fuck_ no,” Sans gingerly took their trembling arms in his hands. He reached deep inside himself, plunging as hard as he could for something, for _anything_ , for magic that felt so weak, so sparse. But he needed it, he needed it _now_ , and he didn't care if it _killed_ him so long as he could keep them safe.

  
  


 

  
  


Green magic _sparked_ wildly out of his palms and Frisk shuddered instantly, gasping as the healing magic took effect almost immediately. Their oozing cuts knitted and wound themselves back up together, but they continued crying silently even as their eyes began to slowly roll back into their head. Sans focused only on thoughts of healing, of how badly he just wanted to protect them, to keep them _safe_. He was a little shocked himself at the sheer ferocity with which the emerald sparks flickered out of his hands, and he continued until the fresh marks were completely gone, little thin scars added to their collection. His bones felt like they had just been dipped in liquid lead, his head hollow and drained as he slipped and almost fell backwards were it not for Frisk's surprisingly iron grip. He sank to his knees and clutched them weakly to his chest, unable to breathe properly, unable to focus, unable to even think.

  
  


He wasn't certain for how long he just knelt there in a little puddle of blood, shaking and listening to them cry softly into his shoulder.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Babybones,” Sans croaked eventually when his faculties began to ever so slowly return. “I'm only gonna... ask this once... so listen close. What. In the _fuck_.”

  
  


“I'm sorry,” Frisk sniffled miserably, hiding their face in his jacket. “I'm s- _sorry_ Sans, I'm sorry, _please_ , please don't die...!”

  
  


“I'm not – shh, hey, hey...” he petted the back of their head with his blood slicked hand, pulling them a little closer. He had to stay calm, but that seemed like a pretty tall order at the moment. Had the whole house always been at such a tilted angle? He had to fight the urge to hold onto the floor for balance. “Shh. It's okay. Nobody is gonna die. _Okay_? Don't cry, babybones. Nobody's dead. No dyin'. Don't cry, it's okay.”

  
  


“I thought you were gonna...!” Frisk choked, squeezing their arms limply around his neck.

  
  


“Shh, _shh_ now, come on,” Sans had to fight to keep his voice in check, regardless of the fact that he was crying just as hard as they were. His head hurt so much, he was so _tired_.

  
  


“Why did you _leave_ me?” Frisk sobbed, and his soul felt like it was breaking. “I t-thought y-you loved me...?”

  
  


It hit him like a slap to the face. He would have preferred a slap to the face, actually, as that wouldn't have hurt nearly as much.

  
  


 

  
  


“Babybones,” Sans breathed shakily, holding them as gently as he could. “Of _course_ I love you-”

  
  


“Then why did you leave?” Frisk whimpered quietly, hiding their face against him. “ _Why_?”

  
  


What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to respond to _that_? How could he tell a ten year old that he was so sick of existence that he just wanted to curl up in a ball and beg for death?

  
  


“... I'm sorry,” Sans murmured quietly, phalanges tangled in their hair, but he didn't care. “I'm so, so sorry, Frisk. I promise – I promise. I won't leave you. I won't leave you again. Please, forgive me, babybones. I'm so sorry.”

  
  


“... I forgive you,” Frisk sniffed unhappily, curling up a little into his embrace. “I love you, Sans.”

  
  


“I love you too, babybones.”

  
  


 

  
  


_I'm gonna fix this._

  
  


_Somehow._

  
  


_I'm gonna fix this._

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“I really don't understand,” Papyrus sat cross legged in the snow, watching as white flakes drifted down around them.

  
  


“I'm not asking you to,” Flowey said simply, bouncing a little on his stem. Papyrus sighed and glanced around the little clearing that his friend seemed to love bringing him to so much, leaning back and propping himself up on his hands as his scarf fluttered a little in the breeze. “All I'm asking is that you consider it. Mull it over a while, you know?” Flowey grinned up at him cheerfully. “You never know _what_ you might find.”

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus sighed quietly again, staring up into the cloudy ceiling.

  
  


“... I really should be getting back,” he said after a while of silence.

  
  


“Worried about Frisk and Sans, huh?” Flowey chirped. “Golly, I wouldn't worry any. They're probably fine. I mean, just what kind of trouble can they be getting up to, anyway?”

  
  


“See, when you phrase it like _that_ ,” Papyrus frowned a little, causing the flower to laugh.

  
  


“You sure are a little _paranoid_ lately, Papyrus!” he raised himself up a little on his stem.

  
  


“I just... I just get this bad feeling,” the skeleton shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes. Like... I don't know quite how to describe it, little friend. Like something is just... wrong.”

  
  


“Maybe that's because there _is_ something wrong,” Flowey said with what might have been smugness, but Papyrus couldn't quite tell. “Why, sometimes it feels like everything is off track. You mean feelings like that, don't you, Papyrus?”

  
  


Papyrus didn't answer immediately, only frowning more deeply and staring off into the snowy woods.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You know,” Flowey said after a long stretch of silence. “You're my best friend, Papyrus.”

  
  


“I also value your acquaintanceship, Flowey!” Papyrus nodded, smiling softly. “It's nice to have someone to talk to.”

  
  


“Say, Papyrus,” Flowey began again in that same rehearsed tone. “You know, I brought you out here today for a reason.”

  
  


“I assumed as much,” Papyrus said slowly. It was usually that way. Then again, there were plenty of times where Flowey would invite him out to the clearing just to enjoy the quiet together.

  
  


“Why, I almost forgot to ask!” he perked up a little, giving Papyrus a strange stare. “Just how _is_ your brother doing, by the way?”

  
  


Papyrus leaned forward and crossed his arms, concern plain on his face.

  
  


 

  
  


“He's... he's just a little sick.”

  
  


Flowey outright laughed.

  
  


“Oh ho ho, friend. You have _no_ idea.”

  
  


“He really hasn't been-been feeling well these last few days,” Papyrus shifted uneasily, the awkward feeling that he got sometimes when he stared at Flowey for too long rising up. “I'm sure that he'll-he'll be fine. He just needs rest and some good food.”

  
  


It was clear from Papyrus's tone that even he didn't believe himself.

  
  


“You'll remember what I said though, will you not?” Flowey asked quietly.

  
  


“I'll... I'll remember,” Papyrus twisted his head a little to glance down at the flower. “But I don't think that's a very, er, _polite_ thing to ask.”

  
  


“So don't ask him,” Flowey said as if it were obvious. “Just take a little _sneak peek_ at his soul when you get the chance. Maybe you could find out what's been making him so 'sick', hmm?”

  
  


“What? I can't just do something like that...” Papyrus closed his eye sockets as he tried to explain. “I know you have a different perspective on these things, but... I mean, well. Souls are-are a very _personal_ thing, Flowey.”

  
  


“Oh, believe me, I know a _lot_ about souls for someone who doesn't have one,” he winked and stuck his tongue out a little. “You should try talking him into training. He has a hard time saying no to you when you're determined. Then pull his soul out and you can see what's wrong!”

  
  


“But-but that's seems so...” Papyrus clasped his hands together nervously. “I don't know. Manipulative?”

  
  


Flowey only laughed again and shook his head a little.

  
  


 

  
  


“But you want to _know_ , don't you?” Flowey bounced on his stem again, raising himself up to eye level with the sitting skeleton. “Golly. You know, I sure am jealous of you, Papyrus. Living without knowledge of so much must be a real _relief_. You know, I hear a whole _lot_ that I can't forget. Why, I'd bet that some of what I hear might even be _useful_ to you.”

  
  


“... I'm going to go make dinner,” Papyrus said simply, dusting the snow from himself as he stood. “Besides, I need to check on Sans again.”

  
  


“Oh, before you go...” Flowey said just as he turned, once again in that same rehearsed tone. Like he'd had this conversation before. “I just wanted to give you a little _tidbit_ that, who knows? Might even come in handy.”

  
  


“What is it, little friend?” Papyrus knelt in the snow to meet his gaze.

  
  


“Tell me, Papyrus. How much do you know about a person named _Gaster_?”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	24. Schism

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


_I can do this._

  
  


_I think I can keep going._

  
  


_I have to keep going._

  
  


 

  
  


“I don't... fully understand.”

  
  


“I didn't expect you to,” Flowey winked at him. “Just take it into consideration, Papyrus. See you tonight!”

  
  


 

  
  


And with that the little flower vanished into the snow, leaving the dazed skeleton kneeling over the place he had just been. He felt as though he had been punched, his head was reeling and no matter how tightly he clasped his knees he couldn't quite manage to get a firm grip on himself. There was simply no way that it could be true. How could the flower even manage to get his metaphorical hands on information like that? Papyrus sincerely doubted that he had simply 'heard it somewhere'.

  
  


_You're not a real monster._

  
  


 

  
  


The thought was like a train wreck to his line of thoughts, damaging everything that he tried to distract himself with until all he was left with was a smoking mess. It didn't make sense. He didn't know for how long he'd been kneeling in the snow, watching the snowflakes dancing and twirling down around him. He didn't want to believe it. It seemed too far fetched, to unlikely, too impossible. He _felt_ real. Didn't that make him a monster?

  
  


And yet, there were things about Flowey's story that added up regardless. The gap in his memory still remained from when he was young. And for all of his prying, Sans had never, _ever_ mentioned their parents whenever he'd asked. Why would he keep something like that secret?

  
  


Didn't Sans trust him at all?

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus didn't know how long he had been musing to himself, completely lost in thought. He was real, of _course_ he was a real monster. He walked and talked and acted just like a monster. But then again, Flowey seemed awfully monster-like, and he wasn't... _all there,_ sometimes. Papyrus had been through a couple of those episodes for his poor little friend. But he was real, right? He _thought_ he was real. But so many puzzling questions had been introduced to him in such a short amount of time, he didn't know what to make of them. It was overwhelming. Reality came back down upon him after what felt like hours, and it was a shock to his system.

  
  


“... Dinner,” he muttered more to himself than anything, pushing himself on his hands and knees to stand in the snow and heading back into town. “Make dinner. _Focus_ , Papyrus.”

  
  


And regardless of his words to nobody, Papyrus still felt a million miles away. He felt so confused, he had so many questions, and simultaneously he was loathe to ask Flowey again. The flower only dropped little bits of information after what he had told him. Like he was _toying_ with him, seeing how much he could get away with. But that was just silly. Flowey was his friend. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have told him something like that.

  
  


But how did he even find out a secret that huge?

  
  


And what in tarnation was Papyrus supposed to do _now_?

  
  


 

  
  


He sighed quietly, marching steadily but slowly toward Snowdin, pushing tree branches laden with ice out of his way as he retraced his steps back to civilization. His footfalls were heavy, leaving tracks in the snow. Obviously he was just going to have to try to get answers elsewhere. As much as he was loathe to admit it, Flowey was right. He couldn't just live his whole life not knowing. There were some things that he needed to know.

  
  


Sans would know what to do.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


_I think I can do this._

  
  


_I have to do this._

  
  


_Keep it together._

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus took in a long, arduous breath through his nostril bone as he stood on the front step, closing his eyes for a moment and leaning his forehead against the cool wood. He just wanted to stay here for a while, rest his weary body and let his aching mind soothe. He could hear soft voices coming from within, but not loud enough to make out what they were saying.

  
  


What exactly was he _supposed_ to say to his brother, anyway?

  
  


_'Hey, so I think you've been lying to me for my entire life, how's that going for you?'_

  
  


Papyrus groaned and covered his eye sockets with one gloved hand, thinking. Sans wouldn't _lie_ to him. He just wasn't that kind of person. He'd known him all of his life, and Sans never-

  
  


Actually, that wasn't _quite_ true. Sans had been lying to Undyne just the other day. And he had seemed so... casual about it. Like it had been just another thing to do. Papyrus frowned, stirring up his courage. He would get things sorted out. Sans wouldn't lie to him. Just like Papyrus wouldn't lie to him.

  
  


Then again, wasn't omission of truth _technically_ a lie, as well?

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus pushed the door open before he could change his mind, taking in a deep breath.

  
  


“I have returned from training!” Papyrus called out as soon as he entered, quietly latching the door behind him. He felt like such a hippocrite. The voices had apparently been coming from the kitchen, and stopped as soon as he came inside. He took a couple of long strides and peeked into the kitchen to see what the pair were up to, and instead of finding the pleasant surprise of Sans cooking again, he found the _not_ so pleasant surprise of Sans on his hands and knees next to a bucket with a sponge, cleaning up a suspiciously large puddle of blood off the floor.

  
  


 

  
  


“... What,” Papyrus felt like being ill at the sight, forcing himself to look away to Frisk, who was backed away against the wall with their arms tucked tightly into their sleeves. “Oh my _god,_ what...? What happened?”

  
  


“K-kiddo had an... accident,” Sans said uncomfortably, unable to look him quite in the eye sockets. Papyrus eyed the bloody knife lying in the corner, shifting from foot to foot as he glanced back over at Frisk, who was staring up at him in terror, their eyes wide.

  
  


“... An _accident_ ,” Papyrus repeated slowly.

  
  


“I-it was m-my fault,” Frisk's voice came out in barely above a whisper. “P-please don't b-be mad...!”

  
  


“I'm not angry at anyone,” he slowly knelt in front of them, gently placing a large hand over their tiny shoulder, smiling softly. “Just promise me that you'll be more careful in the future. Okay, Frisk?”

  
  


“O-okay,” relief flooded their face almost instantly as they hugged him. “I promise, Papy.”

  
  


Sans watched the entire display without moving, almost without breathing, and his chest tightened up the instant Papyrus glanced over at him with a very peculiar look on his face.

  
  


 

  
  


“... I'll-I'll just finish cleaning,” Sans said awkwardly, his cheeks strangely colored as he looked away back down at the half cleaned mess on the floor.

  
  


“Do you still need bandages or anything, little one?”

  
  


“No, it's-it's okay,” Frisk shook their head. “Sans took care of me.”

  
  


“Alright then. Why don't you go find your nightclothes and pick out a movie for us tonight, Frisk? I'll get started on dinner for everyone, how does that sound?”

  
  


Frisk nodded with a small smile, hugging him again before scampering off to the living room.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus waited until they were out of earshot to slowly, ever so slowly, stand and turn until he was facing Sans. The shorter skeleton tried to continue scrubbing without looking up, but he could easily see the blue dusting his cheeks. Papyrus's gloved hands were shaking, his neck and shoulders so tense that his head pounded.

  
  


“... Must have been a terrible _accident_ ,” Papyrus started casually, crossing his arms. He sniffed for a moment and glanced to the almost empty liquor bottle lying in the floor. “... Have... have you been drinking again, Sans?”

  
  


“Y-yeah,” Sans quietly said as he dipped the sponge in the bucket once again, finishing up cleaning the red mess, either ignorant or apathetic towards the blood all over his clothes. “Needed it. Must've... nicked an artery or-or something.”

  
  


“Yeah. Or something.”

  
  


“Are you tryin' to imply somethin', Paps?” Sans retorted angrily, throwing the sponge into the bucket with a small splash. Why had he grown so furious? It was just as irritating to Papyrus, didn't he care? His breathing was heavy and he looked more tired than ever, and the anger was plain in his scowl.

  
  


“I'm not implying anything!” Papyrus stamped a foot against the floor. “I'm _asking,_ and I'm _angry!_ Why is it that _every_ single time I come back after leaving Frisk with _you_ , they seem to have been hurt _again_ in one way or another?”

  
  


Sans spluttered and grasped at nothing in his hands, eye sockets wide.

  
  


“ _What_?!” his voice was steadily rising. “Paps, what the hell! This isn't _my_ fault!”

  
  


“I didn't say it was!” Papyrus said defensively. “I just want to know the _truth_ Sans!”

  
  


“Paps, what-what are you talking about?” Sans stood higher to glare at him. “I am tellin' you the truth!”

  
  


“So you're telling me that you _won't_ lie to me,” Papyrus lowered his voice a little, tilting his head downward.

  
  


“Of course not, Paps,” Sans said a little more softly, embarrassed that he had resorted to shouting at Papyrus. God, he felt like _garbage_. “I-I won't lie to you.”

  
  


“... Who is Gaster?”

  
  


 

  
  


The effect was almost instantaneous.

  
  


All of the color drained from Sans's face instantly, leaving him looking pale and about to be sick. The outright _horror_ dawning on his features was plain as day, it was like a switch had been thrown and right then Papyrus knew that there was no going back. But he was getting answers, one way or another.

  
  


“... W-where did you hear that name?” Sans choked, staring up at him.

  
  


“Who is he, Sans?” Papyrus frowned. “Is he really why... why I don't... remember?”

  
  


Sans didn't answer. All of the light went out of his eye sockets and he appeared ready to drop at a moment's notice. “So how about I ask a different question... how long have you been lying to me, Sans?”

  
  


“I can't _fucking believe_ this!” Sans bellowed. “Paps, _what?”_

  
  


“I'm not _stupid_ , Sans! Don't treat me like I am!”

  
  


“I never _said_ you were stupid-”

  
  


“No, you just _act_ like I am! Why can't you just tell me the _truth_ for _once_?!”

“It's a need to know basis, Paps-”  
“Oh, and I don't _need_ to know? Amnesia of half my _damn life_ is kinda _important_ to me, Sans!”

“Can you quit _shouting_ and chill the shit out?” the shorter skeleton's flushed face was ablaze with anger. “I can't help it if I need ta _protect_ you-”  
“By _lying to my face_ for years on end!”

  
  


“You know what?” Sans screamed and stood on his tiptoes for little to no effect, thrusting his shaking fists in his jacket pockets. “ _Fuck you,_ Papyrus!”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans recoiled almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, and no matter how much he wanted to take it back there was no undoing what he had just done. If he had looked terrified at the mention of the name before, Sans looked like he had just seen the face of the devil, horrified at his own words.

  
  


Papyrus took a step backwards, tears streaming freely down his face.

  
  


“P-Paps,” Sans choked instantly, reaching out for his brother. Papyrus only jerked hard away, turning his head so that he wouldn't see him cry.

  
  


“... Okay. I'm... going for a walk,” Papyrus said in an uneven tone. “Goodnight, Sans.”

  
  


“Paps – Papy, wait!” Sans stuttered, chasing after him and almost slipping on the floor. “Wait, Paps, _fuck_ ; I'm _sorry_ , I d-didn't _mean_ -!”

  
  


Papyrus didn't hear the rest of what he had to say over the sound of the slamming door.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sank to his knees, feeling like he was being choked by himself. What had he just _done_? Papyrus was the _best_ thing he had in his whole miserable life, and he was _hurting_ him. He was a miserable, drunken piece of shit, screaming at his own brother because he couldn't handle it all. God he _hated_ himself.

  
  


Because that's all he ever did. All he could do was _hurt_. It wasn't Papyrus's fault. It wasn't _his_ fault, he wasn't to blame, it was the alcohol or something, all the crazy in his life. It was the _resets_. The goddamned resets, they made it too hard to _think_ , made him too _impulsive_. It made him face himself for the monster that he really was.

  
  


Just when he thought he couldn't hate himself any more.

  
  


Sans was crying silently, desperately trying to wipe his eyes with his forearm when he noticed the terror stricken Frisk standing in the doorway. He started to stand and they backed away into the wall, hyperventilating and holding their hands out in front of them defensively. Like they knew how desperately he wanted to force a reset and try again. That's all it would take. One flick of the wrist and a burst of magic and Papyrus wouldn't remember anything. He could fix this.

  
  


They looked... so afraid.

  
  


And of course they were afraid, that was just one more thing to kick himself over. Of course they were afraid of him, because every time that he made a mistake, _they_ were the one to suffer for it. And he wanted it, too. He wanted a reset, he wanted one _badly_ , and it was just a matter of how willing he was to take an innocent life just to try again with his brother. And no matter how badly he wanted it, how desperately he wanted to go back, he knew in that instant that he couldn't do that to Frisk. They knew, they _had_ to know, he could see from how badly they were shaking that they knew what might be coming. What he _needed_ to happen.

  
  


There were some things that just couldn't be fixed. He had created a schism between his own brother, and he couldn't even blame the _fucking anomaly_ anymore because they did nothing wrong, it was _his_ fault and sooner or later he had to face it, it was _always_ his fault that the people he loved the most were hurt.

  
  


 

  
  


“... God _dammit,_ ” Sans breathed into his hands, trying to stem the flow of hot tears. “I'm... I'm s- _shit_. How... how much of that did you hear, kiddo?”

  
  


Frisk didn't respond, their lips were pressed tightly together and they looked ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

  
  


 

  
  


“I... I need you ta stay here for a bit, babybones,” Sans murmured as he stood, wiping his eyes. “I... I gotta go find Paps. Okay?”

  
  


Frisk nodded for a moment. He waited for them to take off, for them to flee to safety. And instead of running away like he expected them to, they instead only darted up to him to hug him around the middle. They were trembling furiously, even more so than him. He didn't want them to be afraid. Not ever again. Not of anyone. Not of him.

  
  


_Especially_ not of him.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'm gonna fix this, babybones.”

  
  


_God, I just wish that I knew how._

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


A short distance away, Flowey popped back down into the ground away from the window on the log house, giggling to himself.

  
  


Oh, this was going _splendidly_.

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	25. Great Responsibility

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus stumbled mindlessly through snowfall and icy path, uncertain of where he was going.

  
  


Maybe it didn't matter.

  
  


Maybe it never did.

  
  


 

  
  


He felt so cold. So numb. So _empty_.

  
  


He huddled in on himself regardless of how little it did to ward off the chill, and yet he pressed on regardless. Had it always been this cold out? He didn't know how long he had been walking. He wasn't particularly concerned about that, either. All he wanted to do was just get _away_. There was no escaping his own memory, though. The sight of his own brother _screaming_ at him like that, so furious, so angry, so _bitter_. But it was his fault, wasn't it? He shouldn't have let his emotions get the best of him. It hurt, it ached, it scalded his soul. What had he done wrong? Everything? Was it his fault?

  
  


Maybe it was his fault. He could see that Sans was clearly in distress, and he had let his roiling emotions and confusion get the best of him, and now he was suffering for it. Papyrus kicked uselessly at a chunk of ice sticking up out of the snow, shattering it and watching it sail in chunks through the air before vanishing into a snowbank, but it did nothing to relieve the thrashing anger. At himself, at his brother, at the world. It just wasn't _fair_.

  
  


He couldn't think on it for too long though. He couldn't allow himself to. If he did, he would start crying again like a babybones. And he was just so tired. So drained. So dismayed. All he wanted was to just escape.

  
  


But how far could he really run from himself?

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Howdy_!”

  
  


Papyrus took in a shuddering breath, not even realizing that he had stumbled straight into the familiar little clearing.

  
  


“I can't... talk right now, Flowey,” Papyrus's voice came out wavering and weak.

  
  


“Having a bad time, huh?” Flowey curled his way around Papyrus's ankle, but he didn't care. He wasn't certain whether it was Flowey pulling him to the ground or if maybe his legs had finally just given out. “Man, that was pretty brutal. And your own _brother_ , too. Can't say I didn't try to warn you, buddy.”

  
  


“I don't _understand_ ,” Papyrus choked as Flowey wrapped a vine around his shoulders. “I j-just don't _understand_.”

  
  


“Shh, _hey_ there...” Flowey hushed him in a soothing tone, patting him on the shoulders and twirling around so that he was face to face with the skeleton. “It's all going to be okay, Papyrus. That mean little trashbag got you pretty good, huh?”

  
  


Papyrus hugged him around the stem and couldn't fight back the flow anymore, desperately trying to hug him and hide his crying.

  
  


 

  
  


“There, there...” Flowey had practiced that particular tone so many times that it came easily to him. “That's right, pal. Just let it all out.”

  
  


Papyrus sobbed miserably against him, grasping uselessly at nothing.

  
  


“It's all going to be alright, Papyrus,” Flowey didn't bother to hide his smirk as he dipped his head over Papyrus's shoulder. “Your old pal Flowey is _always_ here for you.”

  
  


A few simple words, a pat on the back and he was like putty in his vines. Stars it was so _easy_ to toy with them all. A friendly word here and a little help there, just a nudge in the right direction was all they needed. He could make them all think that he was a living saint if he wanted to. It had been a while since he'd played that game, but now the rules had changed. Papyrus was on his path now. He had such big plans ahead for him. All he had to do was give him a little push in the right direction, and almighty power would be his, just as it _should_ be. Papyrus really was his favorite toy.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Where could he have possibly gone?

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Papyrus_?” Sans shouted into the snowstorm, his bloodied jacket whipping wildly in the wind. “PAPRYUS?!”

  
  


“I don't see him...”

  
  


“I told you _twice_ to go back to the house!” Sans growled, barely heard above the heavy muffling of snowflakes.

  
  


“But-but w-what if he g-gets hurt?” Frisk danced from foot to foot, clearly freezing in the snow. They were shaking hard, teeth clattering, hair in their eyes as the dampness stuck to them. Sans's expression softened a little, and he eventually pulled his jacket from around his shoulders and draped it around them, zipping it up halfway. Frisk stared at him in surprise, but took it anyway. He glanced back out over the bridge, impatiently searching for any sign at all of the tattered red scarf in the myriad of white.

  
  


“Go back home,” Sans instructed them quietly. “Just wait for us there. I'll bring Paps home safe and sound. Okay?”

  
  


“I-I c-c- _can't_ ,” Frisk shivered. “What ab-bout Papy?”

  
  


“ _Frisk_ ,” Sans let out a breath through his teeth, watching as the little steamy cloud left in a puff. “ _Please_ , kiddo, I am beggin' you here, just please _listen_ to me and go _home_.”

  
  


“Please don't leave me again,” Frisk tugged at his hand pitifully. “Please, _please_ Sans... I d-don't wanna be _alone_ again.”

  
  


Why were they doing this to him? Were they really that twisted? Were they really that cruel as to make him choose between them and his brother? He needed to get rid of them, he needed to find his brother, but he couldn't just _ditch_ Frisk, even if that idea did seem appealing in his panic to find Papyrus. Besides, the last time they were left on their own...

Sans couldn't handle another reset.

Not right now.

  
  


 

  
  


“P-please, Sans... please don't leave me.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans could feel his resolve slowly dwindling as he stared at the child, and he felt so torn that he was surprised that he wasn't split in half. That burning sensation in his chest was back, the fuming _anger_ still heating his marrow. They were screwing with his head, doing this all on purpose for revenge, it was _their fault –_ he shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It wasn't Frisk's fault, he should have been more careful. What was he supposed to do? What was the most sensible thing to do? What was the _right_ thing to do?

  
  


Either he could continue his fruitless search for his brother, who probably wouldn't even want to be around him after such a horrendous incident, or he could return home with Frisk and wait for his return. What if he wasn't even out here? What if he had gone in another direction? What if Papyrus wasn't coming back? What if his brother had just finally gotten sick of his shit and left for good?

_What if he's already dust?_

  
  


What was the _right_ thing to do?

  
  


He honestly didn't know anymore.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans stared down at Frisk as they pulled gently at his hand, and he couldn't tear his gaze away from their pleading expression, hair blowing slightly in the freezing breeze. He had seen that face so,so many times. And so many times, he had looked on without pity, without mercy. They looked so hurt.

  
  


So _lost_.

  
  


And how many times had it been because of him?

  
  


 

  
  


“... Okay,” Sans withered a little inside. “Okay, babybones. Let's... let's go home.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


They had cold spaghetti for dinner.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans did everything that he could to keep Frisk as comfortable as possible. He cooked (if reheating spaghetti counts as cooking), he cleaned while they sat on the sofa and watched him sweep like his life depended on it, he didn't complain when Frisk insisted that they watch another (terrible) Mettaton movie as they were wrapped up in their favorite red blanket as they curled up next to him on the couch. Their jacket lay draped over the back of the couch, and Frisk gave it odd glances every now and then, though for what he couldn't determine. He caught them pulling it close several times before putting it back, like they needed to keep stroking it and were struggling to resist the effort.

  
  


Nothing could take his mind off of it, however.

  
  


Nothing could change what he said.

  
  


Nothing could change what he was.

  
  


Well.

Maybe _one_ thing could give him another chance.

_God please stop thinking about it, oh stars make it stop._

 

  
  


“... Sans?”

  
  


“Yeah, kiddo,” he blinked, almost having fallen asleep next to them on the couch. They were curled up beneath their fluffy red blanket, leaning against him as the movie played and cast dancing shadows over the living room.

  
  


“When is Papy coming home?”

  
  


“He'll...” Sans started, the weariness hanging off him like a cloak. He sighed and close his eye sockets for a moment. For all he knew Papyrus was just... gone. He wasn't answering his phone. Nobody he'd called or asked had seen hide nor bone of him. And here he was just sitting on his ass being useless as ever, just _hoping_ that things would be okay and he despised himself for it all the more. “He'll come home when he's... ready. God, kiddo. I'm... I'm so _sorry_.”

  
  


Frisk didn't respond, but they silently took his hand in theirs with a weak little squeeze, giving him a soft, sad smile. He tried to smile back at them, but it was clear his heart wasn't in it and he gave up almost immediately, closing his weary eyes with a slow sigh. He shouldn't _be_ here. He shouldn't be sitting at home watching television with Frisk like nothing was wrong. He should be out _there_ , searching for his brother.

  
  


His brother, who was probably so disgusted with him that he never wanted to see him again.

  
  


God, what was _wrong_ with him?

  
  


 

  
  


And the more pressing question on his mind...

  
  


_Where_ had he heard the name Gaster, anyway?

  
  


He was absolutely positive that he hadn't mentioned that name to him, not even once. Sans considered it the greatest disservice to the scientist to forget him completely. There was little chance that he'd had a drunken slip up, or at least he hoped so. He didn't even want to _think_ about him. Gaster was gone, _more_ than gone, and he was never coming back. It wasn't right, it wasn't _fair_ that he was still hurting them even from beyond the grave. He felt his fists slowly clench in his jacket pockets – or one of them, before he realized that he was still holding Frisk's hand, and gradually released his grip to avoid harming them. This happened every single time he allowed himself to think on the old royal scientist. He got angry, boilingly so, and it took _hours_ to cool off long enough to avoid taking it out on anyone else. Then again, it wasn't like he wasn't already taking his anger out on the ones that he loved, so what difference did it really make? Did it even matter?

  
  


Did anything matter, really?

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus still wasn't returning any of the dozens of messages that he sent, and he wasn't particularly surprised. He wouldn't want to talk to himself, either.

  
  


“... S-Sans?”

  
  


“What's up, buddy?”

  
  


“Y-you're shaking again...”

  
  


“Sorry, kiddo,” Sans cringed inwardly, opening his eye sockets a crack to glance at their worried expression. “Must just be the cold.”

  
  


“I thought you couldn't get cold?”

  
  


Sans opened and closed his mouth once before letting out a weak chuckle.

  
  


“Just... just don't worry about it, Frisk.” he patted his jacket uselessly, frowning. “Damn. Need a smoke. Gotta pick up some more anyway.”

  
  


He started to rise and Frisk slipped out from beneath their blanket, not releasing his hand.

  
  


 

  
  


“Don't worry, kiddo,” he shook his head. “I won't be gone long-”

  
  


“Take me with you?” they asked softly. “Please?”

  
  


“... Gotta make it hard on me, don'tcha,” he shook his head. “Alright, Frisky-bits. Hang on tight to me. Okay?”

  
  


Frisk nodded twice and hugged him tightly around the waist, and he closed his eyes and reached for the magic. It was always a bit more of a strain taking anything other than himself through a shortcut, it left him short of breath and weary, but he didn't care. They fell into the shortcut together, the void wrapping and warping around them for a millionth of a second as they burst out of the air and into the warm gently flowing wind of Waterfall. He felt eyes on him even through the nether, but did his best to ignore it. It was always hard fighting off that awful feeling, and he hoped that Frisk didn't notice.

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk let out a quiet gasp as they stumbled, blinking rapidly at their new surroundings. He stood next to one of the mossy walls and gestured for them to stay, but they only shook their head and clung more tightly to him. Sans gave in eventually and sighed, guiding them by the hand down the familiar hall with sparkling stones glimmering in the wall. He peeked around the corner of the entrance to a small enclave, knocking a couple of times on the stone wall.

  
  


 

  
  


“Knock knock,” he called out into the shop crowded with an assortment of items.

  
  


“Who's there?” he heard a grizzled voice like rocks on sandpaper echo from somewhere within.

  
  


“Broken pencils,” Sans called back.

  
  


“Broken pencils, who?”

  
  


“Never mind, it's all pointless.”

  
  


He heard a short barking laugh as a wizened old tortoise monster poked his head around the corner and entered through a sheet of hanging beads, grinning widely at him. Leathery skin and huge smile, his shell hanging loosely off his back like an armored bookbag, he slapped his hands onto the stone counter after readjusting his monocle.

  
  


 

  
  


“Wah ha! That was even worse than the last one,” the aged tortoise rolled his eyes, but his grin remained. “What brings... you...”

  
  


He paused, staring fully at Frisk.

  
  


_Fuck fuck fuck fuck._

Sans had forgotten to have them put on their disguise. The one that he himself insisted they wear literally every time they left the house, and he couldn't even remember to have them at least bring it? He froze in place, unable to move from beneath the old turtle's piercing gaze.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Never thought of ya as the maternal type, to be honest,” he rubbed his scaly chin. “I'm just gonna assume you're here for a friendly chat.”

  
  


“Uh,” Sans's mind reeled a little. “S-sure, Gerson.”

“Have a seat,” he said blankly, nodding to a couple of stools in front of his cluttered counter, filled with all sorts of knickknacks and baubles. Frisk eyed a particular seashell curiously as they clambered up onto the seat, eyes wide. “Back in a tic.”

  
  


Sans let out an uneasy breath as he dropped onto the stool, not even caring how badly his hands were shaking as he stuck them into his pockets. Maybe bringing a human with him to one of the few survivors of the monster and human war wasn't one of his brightest ideas. Then again, Gerson didn't appear to be alarmed, or even all that surprised. Better yet, he wasn't trying to smash Frisk to bits, so that was a plus. Gerson always had been strange, to Sans.

  
  


 

  
  


The wizened tortoise returned a few moments later with a couple of steaming mugs, brushing the bead curtain out of the way with his elbow and placing both of the mugs into their hands before returning to his place behind the stone counter, leaning on it toward them.

  
  


“... What is this?” Frisk sipped at the drink curiously before scrunching up their face. “It's really salty.”

  
  


“Of course it is,” Gerson rolled his eyes. “Did you expect sea tea to be anythin' but? Drink up, young 'un. It'll put a pep in yer step.”

  
  


“Thanks, Gerson,” Sans said quietly, pretending to sip at the tea. Gerson gave him a low _glare_ , and he slapped himself inwardly. Of course the old coot would know. He took a few guilty drinks, the tea burning his throat a little as he drank. He felt a strange tingling in his stomach and for a brief moment everything felt just a little clearer, just a little sharper.

  
  


“You drink up too, sonny,” Gerson's glower slowly faded away. “You look like you've been sittin' on death's doorstep.”

  
  


“I'm fine.” Sans insisted bluntly. Gerson only snorted and shook his head.

  
  


“Yer about as bad as Undyne,” he shook his head slowly. “Took me all day t'patch her up, and she just goes right back to it. I swear that girl about talked m'damn ear off. I'll go ahead and make another assumption and guess that you're not just here for a friendly tea time, eh?”

  
  


“Y-yeah,” Sans shifted awkwardly, twirling his drink in his hands. “I, uh, need to pick up s'more of-of, y'know.”

  
  


“Again?” Gerson's eyes narrowed a little. “Yeesh, sonny, already? You have any idea how hard those are to come by?”

  
  


“I know, I know...” Sans coughed uneasily into one hand. Frisk was staring at him and he could see them out of the corner of his eye socket, but he couldn't bring himself to glance at them.

  
  


“Eh, alright,” he shook his head. “Gimme a minute. I'm chargin' you extra for this batch, just so y'know.”

  
  


Sans simply nodded his head as Gerson vanished behind the curtain for a few moments, returning with a small paper bag. Sans handed him a stack of golden coins and stuffed the bag of biscuits into his jacket, heavily tempted to dig in while he was still in the shop.

  
  


 

  
  


“So,” Gerson said after a few seconds, leaning on his elbows on the stone counter. “What's your name, youngster?”

  
  


“I'm Frisk,” they responded quietly, staring up at him. “It's very nice to meet you, mister.”

  
  


“Wha ha! Manners, from a whippersnapper,” he chortled. “Now, that's a nice change of pace. Nice t'meetcha too, Frisk! Everybody just calls me Gerson.”

  
  


“Funny,” Sans shook his head with a small grin. “I could have sworn everybody just called you old fart.”

  
  


“Can it, funnybones,” Gerson deadpanned. “Or you just might find some 'old farts' in the next batch you pick up. Get me?”

  
  


Frisk covered their mouth with their empty mug to hide their snickering, and Sans only shook his head.

  
  


“Yeah, yeah. Yuck it up, kiddo,” he ruffled their hair with his free hand, grin slowly spreading over his face. Did Gerson really not care that they were human?

  
  


 

  
  


“So tell me, Blue,” Gerson leveled his gaze at Sans. “What's got you down in the dumps?”

  
  


“I think that's a bit further ahead, actually,” Sans grinned. “The... the dumps.”

  
  


Gerson didn't laugh.

  
  


Sans shifted uncomfortably, coughing into one hand.

  
  


 

  
  


“P-Papyrus and I... we, we, uh... we had a fight.”

  
  


He wasn't entirely certain why he was even telling Gerson this. For all he knew it was utterly pointless sharing anything at all with him when the world might very well be reset to before he met up with him. What was the point of even trying when it would inevitably reset anyway? The simple answer was that there was no point. No purpose.

  
  


“So apologize,” Gerson blinked. “What are you expectin', advice?”

“Kind of?”

  
  


“So be a big boy and admit that you were in the wrong,” he stated quietly. “It ain't all that hard. You've got responsibilities, so go take care of them.”

  
  


He wasn't entirely certain of what Gerson meant by that, but he had a pretty good idea from the odd glance that he was giving Frisk.

  
  


“... Thanks, Gerson,” Sans said after what felt like an eternity, placing his empty mug on the counter top. “I, uh... think I needed that.”

“This one's on the house,” Gerson gave him a toothy grin. “But next time I'm chargin' you double for free advice.”

  
  


Sans chuckled and rose, shaking his head. Frisk followed him closely as he waved goodbye, letting them take his hand as he vanished around the corner and into his shortcut. Gerson watched them slip out the doorway, shaking his head. Sans could feel the eyes on him as he went, eyes that had seen too much, that knew a little more than they let on.

  
  


Sans knew that look.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


_You've got responsibilities._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans sighed quietly as he dropped onto the wooden bench, patting the seat next to him for Frisk to join him. They silently climbed up beside him and fiddled with their sleeves, pulling their hands inside them and watching as Sans wordlessly pulled a dog biscuit from his pocket and lit it, taking a long drag and letting out a soft puff of smoke. Frisk held out their hand patiently with a bizarre expression on their face that he couldn't quite place. He almost pulled away from them at that, but caved in almost instantly when they pouted, sticking out their quivering bottom lip. God, he really was so easy to break. It was just pathetic.

  
  


 

  
  


_So much for a one time thing._

  
  


Sans silently held out his hand and allowed them to take the smoking biscuit, and watched them hack and cough when they tried to imitate him. He wasn't helping them, like this. Not at all. If anything, he was making things worse. He was only helping himself. What was he supposed to even do? How was he supposed to be responsible, how was he supposed to take care of them when he could barely take care of _himself_?

  
  


He mused over this silently for a while, staring off his side to glance at the echo flower beside the wooden bench. He couldn't just let them go. Not now. It was too late for that. Was he even ready? Could he do this?

  
  


“I'm just... I'm not ready for the responsibility,” he muttered aloud as Frisk passed him back the biscuit, giving him time to take another long, steady drag before letting out a single smoke ring through his nostril bone. “I wasn't ready for the responsibility.”

  
  


Maybe that's what he needed. He needed to admit that he wasn't ready. That there was no amount of pep talks from Gerson or friendly training from Grillby that could make him a better person. And he needed to be a better person. For Papyrus. For Frisk. He wasn't good enough. He wasn't 'good' in any sense of the word.

  
  


 

  
  


Silently, almost as if they could sense his distress, Frisk gently took his hand and snuggled up next to him, leaning on his shoulder and rubbing their thumb over his phalanges softly with a small smile, their eyes half lidded.

  
  


“... Thanks, Sans,” they murmured quietly.

  
  


“Thanks for what?” he gave a weak laugh. “For bein' an asshole to everybody?”

  
  


“For... for taking care of me.”

  
  


“... I just...” he closed his eyes slowly, sighing again. “I'm not _good_ for you, babybones. I'm not good for Papyrus. I'm not... I'm not good for... anything. For anybody.”

  
  


“I don't believe that,” they squeezed his hand gently, beaming up at him. “Everybody can be good if they just try. Somebody really special to me told me that once. I believe it.”

  
  


“... Heh. You're a _good kid_ , Frisk,” Sans flicked the stub into the water, his head spinning wildly as they hugged him softly. “Never let anybody tell you different. Okay?”

  
  


“Okay. I love you, Sans.”

  
  


“I love you too, babybones.”

  
  


 

  
  


They simply sat for a while in silence, holding each other to ward away the eternally encroaching darkness, utterly unaware of the fact that they were being watched.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to upload as much as I can, trying to make the story suck slightly less.  
> Hopefully it's at least readable.


	26. The World's A Stage

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


  
  


“Tell me, Papyrus. How much do you know about _souls_?”

  
  


“It doesn't matter, Flowey,” Papyrus sat numbly with his back against the old warped tree trunk, his forehead pressed against his knees with his arms wrapped tightly hugged around them. “Doesn't matter. Please. I don't want to keep talking about that.”

  
  


“Aw, come on now, buddy!” Flowey popped down and resurfaced beside him, grinning. “Don't you wanna get back at your brother for being so _mean_ to you?”

  
  


“ _No_ ,” Papyrus answered without lifting his head. “I just want to be alone right now.”

  
  


“Come _on_ , Papyrus,” Flowey prodded him in the side with a vine to no effect. “Get it together already.”

“Papyrus isn't here right now,” he said, his voice muffled. “Papyrus is in hug town.”

  
  


“Aww. You want another hug, friend?” Flowey sidled up next to him, wrapping a vine around his shoulders. “Don't you worry about a thing. Your old friend Flowey is always here for you.”

  
  


Papyrus sniffled miserably and hugged him around the stem.

  
  


 

  
  


“Thanks, Flowey,” Papyrus sighed, wiping his eyes. “I... think I can keep going.”

  
  


“That's _excellent_ ,” Flowey grinned gleefully. “So, he's got them all in these special containers-”

  
  


“Flowey, _again_?” Papyrus frowned. “I know that-that Asgore has them, but maybe they wouldn't help you.”

  
  


“What's the matter?” Flowey's grin slowly faded. “Don't you _want_ me to have a soul?”

  
  


“Of course I do, little friend,” he shook his head. “But I just don't think that stealing them from Asgore is the right thing to do.”

  
  


“Oh, don't think of it as _stealing_ ,” Flowey snickered. “It's more like I'm _borrowing_ them without permission.”

  
  


“Which is stealing,” Papyrus sighed again. “Flowey, sometimes I doubt the capacity of your moral compass.”

  
  


“Oh, _yes_...” Flowey rubbed a couple of vines together like hands. “ _Golly_ , you're so right, as _always_. I _shudder_ to think of what kind of person I would be without _you_ around, Papyrus.”

  
  


“I'm glad that I could help you somewhat, flower friend,” Papyrus closed his eye sockets and leaned back against the tree.

  
  


“You're such a good person, Papyrus,” Flowey inspected one of his vines closely. “Why, it's almost like you and your brother are polar opposites.”

  
  


“I really don't want to keep talking about this,” he covered his eye sockets with one gloved hand. “Please, Flowey. Please. I don't want to talk about it.”

  
  


“Oh, come _on_ , Papyrus!” Flowey prodded him again, a bit harder this time. “If you keep on _moping_ nothing is going to change. If you want things to change, you have to _make_ them change. Trust me on this one, friend.”

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus took in a deep breath, steeling himself before rising slowly and brushing the snow off of him.

  
  


“... Thank you again, Flowey,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. “I think... I think you might be right. I should have a talk with my brother.”

  
  


“ _That's_ the spirit!” he chirruped, sticking his tongue out a little. “Why, I think it's high time that he started treating you with the respect you _deserve_ , Papyrus!”

  
  


“I just have to get through to him,” Papyrus pounded a fist into his gloved hand, hiding a sniffle. “I can get through to him. I just have to try _harder_. I know it.”

“You can do it!”

“I can do it!” Papyrus nodded, taking a deep breath.

“You can do _anything!_ ”

“I can do anything!”

“You are Papyrus!” Flowey edged him on.

“I am the _Great Papyrus!_ ”

  
  


“Go get 'em, tiger,” Flowey patted him on the back before slipping away back into the ground. Say the right things, push the right buttons and he could get it all back on track. Oh, if he had emotions, he would be _giddy._ He was so, so _close_ , he could almost _taste_ it. It was almost time for the finale.

  
  


All he had to do now was get all of his actors in place.

  
  


 

  
  


_You'd better give me one hell of a show._

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“Come on, babybones. Let's go home.”

  
  


  
  


Sans wasn't certain for exactly how long they had simply sat in silence on that familiar bench, listening to the quietly falling droplets raining down around them. He stared off into one of the stony moss covered walls and mused for a long while, his mind abuzz with thoughts.

  
  


He needed to be better. He needed to be a better person, for Papyrus. For Frisk. There was so much that he should be doing, so much that he shouldn't have done, so much that he should have done and didn't. Frisk needed him to be better. Papyrus, just as much. And he had taken out his anger on the best person that he had ever known. He felt the pit of his stomach sink a little at that as they walked hand in hand, unable to push away the feeling.

  
  


 

  
  


_So this is what garbage must feel like._

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk glanced up at him from time to time, their eyes still half lidded and a strange little complacent smile on their lips. He couldn't help but wanly smile back at them, letting them almost lead the way back to Snowdin and past one of his sentry stations, down the icy fog covered road that lead to their house. They could have taken a shortcut, but Frisk wanted to walk. It was fine with him. He couldn't just give up anymore. They needed him.

  
  


He needed him to be better.

  
  


But how in the world was he supposed to do that?

  
  


 

  
  


It was all so _futile_. It all felt just so... pointless. Like there was no real reason to even try. Everything would eventually be reset anyway, so why bother?

  
  


Frisk squeezed his hand a little as they approached the house, almost like they could sense his distress.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You okay, babybones?” Sans asked quietly, unlocking the front door and failing when the key didn't turn properly.

  
  


“Mm-hmm. What's wrong, Sans?”

  
  


“Door's unlocked,” he muttered more to himself, letting it swing open. A few dancing snowflakes made their way in as he latched the door behind him, the darkness of the house causing him to take a moment for his eye sockets to adjust. The light in the kitchen was still on however, and Sans released Frisk with a gentle pat on the head to investigate.

  
  


 

  
  


“Ah. I... see that you have returned,” he spotted Papyrus almost instantly at the kitchen table, a partially emptied bottle of hard cider before him. “Welcome home, brother.”

  
  


“Paps...” Sans started awkwardly, unable to quite meet his gaze. “I-I, I just...”

  
  


His hands flopped uselessly at his sides and he struggled to find the right words, but Papyrus only slowly shook his head and nodded to the seat opposite him. Sans sank into it like a stone in water, head in his hands.

  
  


 

  
  


“I n-need to tell you first. I'm sorry,” he murmured, barely loud enough to hear himself. “G-god, 'Pyrus, I-I'm so, so sorry. I know you probably wanna yell at me right now, and-and I get it. I deserve it. Christ, Paps. You're... you're a good person. All I want is for you to be okay. I... I never should have let the thing that hurt you so bad be me.”

  
  


Sans froze when he felt a gloved skeletal hand reaching out across the table, covering his own.

  
  


“It's okay, Sans,” Papyrus said gently with a small, sad smile. “I forgive you. I'm... I'm sorry, too.”

  
  


How?

  
  


How could anyone _possibly_ be so merciful? He didn't deserve it. Papyrus should be shouting at him, telling him off for being so lazy, so selfish, so _cruel_ , and he only gave him a soft touch and a smile and _forgave_ him. That, quite possibly, hurt _much_ worse than being shouted at. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve him. His eye sockets were burning.

  
  


 

  
  


He barely noticed when Frisk clambered up into one of the wooden seats between them, silently watching as Sans struggled to dry his eyes.

  
  


“I'm... I'm so sorry, Paps,” Sans strained to keep his voice from cracking.

  
  


“Here,” Papyrus slowly passed the bottle of cider to Sans, leaving the shorter skeleton to stare in slight disbelief. “I'm normally against it because quite frankly it's nasty and gross and dulls your motor senses, but right now I think we both need a pick me up.”

  
  


“... Thanks, Paps,” he took a long swig and felt the burn in the back of his throat almost immediately before plopping the glass bottle back onto the table with a thunk.

  
  


“Don't thank me yet,” Papyrus sighed and leaned forward with his elbows on the table, staring fully at Sans. “We... need to talk.”

  
  


“Hoo, boy,” Sans sighed and closed his eye sockets. “Yeah. Yeah, you're... you're absolutely right. Always are. Alright, bro. I'm... I'm ready. Hit me with it.”

  
  


 

  
  


He expected Papyrus to say that he wasn't allowed to have alcohol in the house anymore. He was preparing himself to hear his brother demand that he clean up his act and stop being such a selfish prick like he deserved. He was bracing himself for a lot of things, but most certainly not the question that Papyrus asked.

  
  


 

  
  


“What _are_ we, Sans?”

  
  


Sans blinked and his breath caught in his chest. He glanced over to Frisk to see that their eyes were hidden behind their hair, but he could feel their stare on him regardless. He suddenly felt like an insect beneath a microscope from the look that Papyrus was giving him. He didn't particularly care for the feeling.

  
  


 

  
  


“Okay. W-well...” Sans let out a shaky breath before steeling himself, pulling the bottle to his mouth and taking a few more long, hard swigs. He felt the buzz kick in almost immediately, and he shuddered a little before taking another long, slow breath. “Not what I thought we'd start with. We're. Uh. We are... weapons.”

  
  


“ _Weapons_ ,” Papyrus repeated slowly, folding his hands over one another on the tabletop.

  
  


“That's what we were created as, initially,” Sans began gradually, staring into the amber liquid before him. “Created as test subjects by our father, Doctor Gaster. We are – _were,_ I mean... _designed_ to be human killing machines.”

  
  


 

  
  


The incredulous look that Papyrus was giving him almost physically hurt. It made his chest ache, and he couldn't even determine what the look that Frisk was giving him might be. Either way, he didn't like it.

  
  


“That's... that's insane,” his brother breathed eventually, running a gloved hand over the top of his head.

  
  


“You think _that's_ nuts,” Sans chuckled darkly. “That's just the tip of the ice berg. So, that leaves me with a question of my own. Where'd you hear about Gaster, anyway?”

  
  


“That's not important,” Papyrus said a little too quickly. “I-I need to know, Sans. Why... why did you keep this _secret_ from me for so long?”

  
  


“You think I wanted you to know?” Sans frowned, rubbing his temples before taking another swig. He really was getting completely drunk at this point, and he didn't need another hangover. “You think I wanted you to know that we were _designed_ to take human lives? I just... I just wanted you to be free from that. To be _happy_.”

  
  


“I think...” Papyrus let out a shuddering breath. “I think I understand. I'm... I'm not _happy_ that you kept me in the dark about this, but... but I think it's good to finally _know_ it.” Papyrus was... taking the news suspiciously well. Something didn't settle quite right with Sans. At all. Something was just _off_ , and he didn't know what it was, and it bothered him deeply.

  
  


“For now,” Sans gave another dark laugh. “Until you forget we ever had this conversation.”

  
  


“Why would I forget?” Papyrus blinked.

  
  


Frisk had become very, very still, and wouldn't look at either of them.

  
  


 

  
  


“Maybe... maybe it's best if you don't forget,” Sans mused aloud, turning the drink in his hands, staring at the now almost empty bottle of cider. He felt dizzy and heavy headed, and so, so tired. All he wanted to do was rest, though he knew that no amount of sleep could ever cure that exhaustion. Not even death would save him. There was no rest on the other side. There was never any rest.

  
  


He was so tired.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Papy?” Frisk said softly, and Sans jumped out of his reverie. They had been so silent that he had almost forgotten that they were sitting beside him.

  
  


“What is it, little one?” Papyrus asked gently, turning to face them.

  
  


“Don't... don't be sad,” Frisk placed their comparatively tiny hand over his, smiling up at him. “The bad man is gone now, so don't be sad. You don't have to be what your dad wanted you to be. You're a good person, and you can be your _own_ person. So don't be sad. Okay?”

  
  


“... You're a good child, Frisk,” Papyrus gently ran a hand over their head, leaning in his seat to give them a light hug, and they gladly hugged him back. “Goodness, that sounded too mature for someone your age. You're growing up too fast.”

  
  


Frisk started to pull the bottle to them, but it was quickly swiped away by Papyrus. Their eyes flashed dangerously, and Sans quietly noted that their eyes were a vibrant shade of red. It was going to be a real chore explaining Chara to Papyrus. But maybe that could wait, he'd already dropped enough bombshells for one day.

  
  


 

  
  


“What?” Chara pouted, sticking out their bottom lip. “I'm plenty grown up enough to drink.”

  
  


“Not in _this_ house, you're not!” Papyrus said firmly. “You're _ten_!”

  
  


“Sans would let me drink,” Chara scowled, crossing their arms over their chest.

  
  


“Like hell Sans _would_ ,” Sans growled dangerously, and they flinched. “Give it about another decade or two, kiddo.”

  
  


Chara grumbled darkly to themselves and retreated into their seat, hair covering their eyes. Papyrus was staring at the child with a peculiar expression that Sans had never seen on him. It was like a bizarre mix of contemplation, curiosity and irritation all jumbled together. In short, it was utterly peculiar.

  
  


He could have sworn that he'd seen that look before, but he just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Unsurprisingly, they had spaghetti for dinner.

  
  


 

  
  


It was not as quiet as Sans would have expected it to be. Papyrus behaved as if nothing had changed at all, and it was... strange, to say the least. Not unwelcome, just strange. Sans honestly didn't know how to react. Papyrus was overjoyed that Frisk even asked for seconds, though Sans really did try to eat the burned spaghetti just didn't seem all that appetizing. He couldn't take his mind off of when the next reset would occur, when he would be having this same conversation with his brother all over again. There was no way out. There was never a way out. It was all so pointless, so meaningless-

  
  


 

  
  


Once again, Sans found Frisk holding his hand like they were joined at the hip, smiling gently up at him with kindness in their eyes. He closed his eye sockets and took a deep breath as Papyrus chatted amicably about the latest Mettaton movie playing in the background as they all sat on the couch, Frisk between them. It was like they knew what he was thinking, and the thought was terrifying. He couldn't imagine anything worse than Frisk seeing him for what he really was, see the darkness and outright cruelty lurking in his soul. Parts of him that he didn't want to acknowledge. Parts of him that he wanted to keep far, far away from Frisk, because it was the only way to keep them safe.

  
  


Papyrus started to drift off with his head leaned back against the couch after a while, and Sans suddenly felt the intense urge to check on Frisk's soul, but he brushed it off.

  
  


That was another thing that he had to figure out. What was he supposed to do about their souls? Was there anything that could be done? What could he possibly do to fix this?

  
  


 

  
  


“... Hey,” Sans said after a long while of silence, glancing over at his sleeping brother. Frisk's eyes blinked wearily open and they rubbed their eyes with their knuckles, looking up to him.

  
  


“Y-yeah, Sans?” Frisk resisted a quiet yawn.

  
  


“I'm gonna... I'm gonna go talk to somebody for a bit,” Sans informed them softly, running a free hand over their head and ruffling their hair a little. “Can you babysit Papyrus for me until I get back?”

  
  


“You're leaving?” Frisk pouted again, sticking out their bottom lip. He had to refrain from commenting, forcing himself to focus. He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay here, where it was warm and safe, relaxing on the couch with Frisk and his brother while they watched dumb movies and could just pretend that everything was fine for a while.

  
  


 

  
  


“I won't be gone long,” he promised quietly. “I've gotta go see somebody to talk to them about the... soul thing. Plenty of work to do. Okay?”

  
  


“Can't it wait?” Frisk frowned, holding onto his hand with both of their warm ones. “Please?”

  
  


“I-I...” Sans started, forcing himself to look away. If he stared at that disappointed, sad look any longer he was going to completely lose his nerve. Didn't they want him to fix this? “I promise I'll be right back. Okay, babybones? And when I get back, how about I read you and Paps a bedtime story? That sound good?”

  
  


“... Okay,” Frisk said eventually with a little sigh, leaning into his chest to give him a tight hug. “I trust you, Sans.”

  
  


“I'll be back soon, babybones,” Sans hugged them back gently. “I promise. I'm gonna fix this. I'm gonna make things right.”

  
  


 

  
  


San left them with that, covering them up with their spare red blanket that they shared with Papyrus, closing their eyes slowly and cuddling up with him. Papyrus mumbled and held them with one arm around their shoulder in his sleep, a peaceful smile resting on his face. Just watching made his chest ache terribly for some reason, and he sighed and closed his eyes before falling backwards into the shortcut.

  
  


 

  
  


It was time to go back to the last place that he ever wanted to go.

  
  


The true lab awaited him.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	27. Never Had A Friend Like Me

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


All that awaited him was the encroaching dark.

  
  


 

  
  


_Don't worry, babybones._

  
  


_I'm gonna fix this._

  
  


 

  
  


Sans stared up at the dragonesque skull shaped machine, lurking over a pit in the dark. He could hear the amalgamates wandering the halls, but he wasn't all that bothered. Not after this long.

  
  


He had work to do.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Keys clicked and clacked as he typed away at the slightly rusted computer, the bleach white light the only source of illumination in the dark room. Skeletal phalanges ticked away as he searched and searched, his eye sockets feeling heavy as he worked. It _had_ to be here. Something had to be here. _Anything_. He needed more information. He couldn't just give up. He couldn't afford _not_ to care anymore. There was so much to do. But where was he even supposed to start in these massive digital archives?

  
  


 

  
  


“Come on...” Sans murmured to himself. “Come on, give me _something_.”

  
  


“S-Sans?”

  
  


Sans jolted in the worn swivel chair, swirling it around and dragging his slippers across the floor.

  
  


“Hey Al,” Sans gave a little wave, watching the nervous scientist tapping her claws together awkwardly. She wore pajamas underneath her white lab coat, glasses dangling from her pointed snout.

  
  


“W-what are y-you doing down here?” Alphys gawked at him. He was certainly a sight. There were bags under his eye sockets, his clothes were a mess, and he looked ready to drop at a moment's notice. She sniffed uneasily at the air for a moment. “S-Sans, you l-l-look, I-I mean... gosh. Have... have you b-been drinking again?”

  
  


“Um... maybe?” Sans shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Just... just gotta fix it. Gotta be something here. Gotta fix it. Gotta _fix_ it...”

  
  


“A-are you, um... okay?” Alphys danced from foot to foot. He looked so worn down, so tired, so _haggard_ , it was making her extremely uneasy. “Sans, y-you don't l-look so good. W-what are you e-even doing d-down here this late?”

  
  


“I've... I've got a problem, Al,” Sans began unsteadily, almost looking ready to fall over. His cheeks were a pallid shade of gray with a dash of embarrassed blue, and he couldn't quite meet her gaze. “I, uh... y-you know those books on souls I borrowed?”

  
  


“Yeah?”

  
  


“It wasn't enough,” Sans continued, rubbing his temples wearily. “I decided to check out some of the old computers to see if I could dig anything up.”

  
  


“Why is it so important?” Alphys asked curiously, standing beside him and peering over his shoulder at the screen, glancing over the old reports.

  
  


“I... I need to know more about soul bonds.”

  
  


“I-I-I, w-what?” Alphys balked at him. “Why do you... oh. Oh, oh my _god_ ,” a tiny grin began growing on her lips. “Are you thinking of-of finding your special someone? Oh my _god_ , Sans, why didn't y-you just tell me?”

  
  


“It's not like that...” Sans closed his eye sockets with a weary sigh. “I... I need to know how to break a soul bond.”

  
  


 

  
  


Alphys stared at him for almost half a minute.

  
  


“Why?” she asked simply.

  
  


“I... I, uh...” he interlocked his phalanges and stared into the screen to avoid her gaze. “I've... got a little problem. And... and I'm not sure how to approach it. I'm not sure what to do, Alphys. And to be honest, it... it scares the _shit_ out of me.”

  
  


“Sans...?” Alphys asked softly, folding her claws behind her back. “You... you k-know you can tell me anything, right?”

  
  


“Of course, Al...” Sans answered quietly, closing his eye sockets again and letting out a quiet sigh. “I'm just... god. I'm tired. I'm so, so _tired_.”

  
  


“Did something h-happen?”

  
  


“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” he shrugged bitterly, glancing over to her. “I... I don't know how it even happened.”

  
  


“Sans? Are... are you implying t-that you actually soul bonded with someone?”

  
  


“... Yeah.” Sans blew out a breath through his teeth. “That's why I need to break it before they get hurt.”

  
  


“Sans, soul bonding isn't all that scary,” Alphys blinked. “I mean, I've looked into it plenty – I-I mean, not for any particular reason, it's just that some relationships-”

  
  


“I soul bonded with the human.”

  
  


 

  
  


Alphys choked suddenly, gawking at him.

  
  


“Sans, _what_ in the _fuc-”_

  
  


“NOW do you get it?” he scowled, running a hand down his face. “I _have_ to fix this, Alphys. I _have_ to.”

  
  


“But-but-but...!” she spluttered, staring at him in horror and disbelief, looking like she was about to be ill. “Sans, they're...! Oh _god_ , why would you _do_ something l-like that...?

“I didn't do it on _purpose_!” he was almost shouting defensively, smacking himself inwardly when she flinched. “I don't even know _how_ it happened! All I know is that I have to _fucking fix this._ I need to fix this, Alphys, and-and I... I don't...!”

  
  


He sobbed dryly into his hands, groaning aloud. Sans was shaking so badly that his bones were rattling. He was almost collapsing where he sat, caved in on himself so much that he looked ready to drop and dust at a moment's notice.

  
  


 

  
  


“I... I dunno what to _do_ ,” he gestured uselessly at the computer screen, wiping his eye sockets angrily. “I don't know what to do. I don't know what the _right_ thing is to do anymore, Al. I'm just... _screwed_. No matter what I do. Once again, completely fucked over by the cosmic dick of the universe.”

  
  


“How-how did something like... like that even _happen_?” she took a shuddering breath.

  
  


“I think it might be related to how much I've had to heal them,” he started slowly, thinking heavily. “I told ya how bad they looked. I'm not good at green magic. You and me both know this. They reacted... strangely to it, to say the least. I'm wondering if that's how I accidentally created a bond between us.”

  
  


“Christ almighty,” Alphys released another shaky sigh, rubbing her tired eyes. “This... this is pretty _fucked up,_ Sans.”

  
  


Sans openly cringed. It wasn't often that Alphys swore. In fact, it was close to never, he'd only heard her do it twice, and it seemed almost unreal that profanity stained her lips.

  
  


 

  
  


“You think I don't know that?” he sighed again, pinching his nostril bone in irritation. “I gotta fix this, Al. And fast. If this goes on for much longer, Frisk might... might see... They absolutely _cannot_ be allowed to see me for... what I am,” he finished uselessly, letting his hands hang by his sides.

  
  


“What d-do you mean by that, Sans?”

  
  


“I've been researching,” he explained slowly. “And I... I saw _things_ , I think, when the bond was developing. Like... like I was seeing inside them. And every known report I've found on soul bonds implies possible shared memories. If... if by any chance, that kind of bond works both ways... god. God help me,” he was shaking by this point. “Alphys, they _can't_ be allowed to see.”

  
  


“Allowed to see what?” she blinked curiously. “S-Sans?”

  
  


“I'm... I'm not a good person, Al,” Sans shivered a little. “I am probably the worst possible thing for that poor kid in the whole Underground. If they get too close to me, if that soul bond manages to let them-them see me like I could see _them_ , then... shit,” he swore loudly. “I've-I've _seen_ things, Al. Despicable, horrible, awful things. I... I can't let that spread to them. I just can't.”

  
  


“Are you.... are you talking about...?” she started, but Sans cut her off.

  
  


“Don't say his name,” he warned her. “Don't even _think_ it. He'll just be getting what he wanted. To be remembered forever. _Fuck_ him, and the skeletal horse that he rode in on.”

  
  


 

  
  


Alphys let out another weary sigh and leaned against one of the warm computer towers, crossing her arms.

  
  


“... Y-you really a-are freaked out a-about this, huh,” she seemed to say more to herself than anything. “I mean, it's no wonder, but... geez.”

  
  


“... Alphys,” Sans began slowly, interlocking his phalanges. “You know about EXP and LV, right?”

  
  


“Well, duh,” she rolled her eyes.

  
  


“Do you remember when you tried scanning me with that device of yours?”

  
  


“Y-yeah?” she blinked uncertainly. “Can't forget it, I spent weeks trying to fix that thing. It just came up with errors.”

  
  


“That wasn't an error, Alphys. The machine works fine,” he explained quietly. “There are... there are some things, some actions that-that stain your soul. Forever. Things that can't be as easily quantified and calculated. That's why it didn't work. Why it never will. I am... _wrong_ , Al. I am a disease for which there is no vaccine. You couldn't begin to imagine what... what I am.”

  
  


“I think you're wrong.”

  
  


“... 'scuse me?”

  
  


“I t-think you're wrong,” Alphys crossed her arms tightly. “For as long as I've k-known you, you've been a good person. A good _friend_. The whole reason that y-you're d-down _here_ is because you're trying to do what you t-think is right. That's... that's pretty commendable on its own,” she said softly, placing a claw on his shoulder with a gentle smile. Sans couldn't even bring himself to speak, it felt like his throat was clenched up, his chest tightened too much. “It takes a lot of guts to do the right thing, no matter how hard it is. I only wish I could b-be that brave.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans almost collapsed back into the seat. It felt... as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He felt shaky and clammy, and a little sick, but... different. To think that Alphys of all people... on second thought, maybe he should have come to her sooner.

  
  


“... T-thanks, Al,” Sans gave a weak laugh. “I... I think I needed ta hear that, even if I didn't know I did.”

  
  


“Glad to help,” she smiled kindly at him. “Now, let me see if I can help dig up t-the right f-files for you. We've got a lot of work ahead of us if we're going to fix this mess.”

  
  


“You'll... you'll still help me?”

  
  


“Um. Duh? You're, like, o-one of my best friends. What do y-you think friends are for?”

  
  


Sans stood abruptly and caused her to jump a little, but he only leaned in and gave her a tight hug, causing her to flush slightly.

  
  


“ _God_ I'm glad we're on the same team, Al,” Sans chuckled, his throat feeling oddly tight.

  
  


“Come on, Sans. Let's get to work.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt... refreshed.

  
  


Exhausted and tired beyond belief, but refreshed. He fell through the shortcut and landed in the dark living room, letting out a tired sigh as he glanced around and let his eye sockets adjust. Papyrus was nowhere to be seen, but Frisk was sitting up on the couch watching a Mettaton special. They perked up almost immediately upon seeing him, bolting from beneath their blanket and wrapping their arms tightly around his midsection and burying their face in his jacket. Sans was just glad that they didn't scream at the first sight of him.

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Sans_!” Frisk chirruped happily, albeit a bit muffled.

  
  


“Heyya, Frisky-bits,” Sans grinned, hugging them back. “Sorry I was gone for so long. Had a lot of stuff to dig through.”

  
  


Frisk ignored him and eagerly pulled him by the hand to the couch, crawling up onto it and patting the seat next to him, beaming the entire time.

  
  


“Alright, _alright_ ,” he snorted, flopping onto the end of the couch and grinning at them. “Guess I did promise to read ya a bedtime story, didn't I?”

  
  


“You don't have to if you don't want to,” Frisk said quietly, not letting go of his hand. “I'm just glad you're back.”

  
  


There again was that mysteriously warm sensation in his chest, and he sighed.

  
  


“... How about this one?” Sans picked up the book from the wooden stand by the couch. Frisk nodded happily and curled up on the couch next to him, leaning against him as he opened the joke book.

  
  


Inside was a quantum physics book.

  
  


 

  
  


“Huh. So that's where I put that,” he shrugged and opened the book.

  
  


Inside was another joke book.

  
  


Inside that was another quantum phsyics book.

  
  


Inside that was another joke book.

  
  


 

  
  


“... You wanna just watch tv instead?” Sans closed all of the books.

  
  


“I can live with that,” Frisk leaned into his side with a lopsided hug. Sans shrugged and slowly closed his eye sockets, holding Frisk close as they drifted off listening to the ramblings of a killer robot about precooked pastries.

  
  


Maybe things wouldn't work out perfectly. Maybe there was no point to anything.

  
  


But as long as he had his friends, as long as he had his family, as long as he could just hold on to the ones that he loved, maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	28. Just Give Up

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


He was close.

  
  


He was so very, _very_ close, he could almost _taste_ immortality. All he had to do was bide his time, and it would all play right into his vines. Flowey giggled to himself as he burrowed through the earth, wriggling and snickering the entire way. That old fool would play right into his metaphorical hands. He almost always did. Things were _finally_ starting to go according to plan.

  
  


This run was going to be the _best_ one yet.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“Hey. Hey, Frisky-bits.”

  
  


Frisk murmured in their sleep, rolling slightly without releasing their grip on him.

  
  


 

  
  


“Seriously, kiddo, you're killin' me here.”

  
  


Frisk blinked sleepily and stifled a yawn, stretching their aching muscles. Sans prodded them again in the side of the head gently, rubbing their hair and grinning.

  
  


“C'mon, munchkin,” he said softly. “Wake up, already.”

  
  


“Wha- time is- it...?” Frisk said through their yawns.

  
  


“Early. Paps isn't up yet. C'mon, squirt. Let's go make some coffee.”

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk slipped out from beneath their blanket and followed him like a blind man follows a seeing eye dog, and even bumped into the door frame while rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Sans couldn't help but snicker at that, patting them on the top of the head and starting up the worn old coffee pot. He gestured to the seat across from him, plopping down into the seat and filling up his mug to the brim before passing Frisk one.

  
  


“What's this for?” Frisk stifled another yawn.

  
  


“For coffee?” he blinked, pouring an unhealthy amount of sugar into his. “You have had coffee, right?”

  
  


Frisk didn't answer immediately.

  
  


 

  
  


“First time for everything, I guess.”

  
  


Sans had to bite back a yawn of his own, taking a cautionary sip of the hot drink. Frisk tasted theirs and scrunched up their face, frowning.

  
  


 

  
  


“Whassa matter, buddy?”

  
  


“It tastes gross,” Frisk smacked their lips, brows furrowed. “Do I have to drink it?”

  
  


“Not if you don't wanna,” he shrugged. “You want somethin' else instead?”

  
  


“Hot chocolate!” they perked up immediately.

  
  


“Heh. I think I can do that.”

Sans dug in the cabinets for a few moments before finding a spare package of hot chocolate, fist bumping against the liquor bottle. He stared hard at it for a moment before sighing and leaving it, carrying the packet of cocoa to the table. He then dumped the entire thing into their coffee cup, entirely straight faced.

  
  


“... Ta da,” he grinned at their irritated expression. “Hot chocolate.”

  
  


“Coffee and chocolate can't go together,” Frisk insisted, turning the drink around and around in their hands. “It's like peas and carrots. They aren't supposed to touch.”

  
  


“Pfft. If you say so, kiddo,” Sans laughed. “But don't knock it 'till you try it. Give it a whirl, it's really not bad.”

  
  


“It's not good, either...” Frisk sighed, but drank deeply regardless. Their thin eyebrows raised a little upon tasting it.

  
  


“See? These old bones know a thing or two,” he winked slyly. “... Peas 'n carrots, huh?”

  
  


“It's a metaphor,” Frisk stared into their mixed drink. “Um. Sort of. Or a simile. I don't remember.”

  
  


“If you say so, buddy.”

  
  


 

  
  


They sat in silence for a while, just enjoying the quiet. There was a warm, fuzzy feeling in Sans's chest that felt so familiar, something that he couldn't quite pin down. Was it... contentment? He hadn't felt anything like it in so, so long. It was so strange, yet simultaneously so... consistent. It didn't fade away quickly like he expected it to, he just felt as if he were... _okay_.

  
  


How long had it been since he'd felt this way? How long had he been terrified of allowing that feeling back into his life? And it was all thanks to them. Frisk. He wasn't certain of what he wanted to tell them, although he had several ideas of what bouncing around his head, still unformed perfectly. Things he needed to tell them. But it could wait. For now, he could just be with them. He could just... be.

  
  


He was... _happy_.

  
  


 

  
  


And, of course, as it always seemed to be whenever he finally allowed himself to open up, to relax, to be free from his self inflicted internal prison of the mind, it all came crashing down a short while later.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans blinked sleepily when he heard a quiet knocking at the door. Frisk glanced at him worriedly, as they didn't have their disguise jacket on, but he only shook his head.

  
  


“Door's unlocked,” he said loudly, taking another sip from his coffee.

  
  


Or at least he tried to, as when Asgore silently crossed the threshold, he suddenly found his coffee mysteriously draining from his mouth and running down his chin and onto the table.

  
  


_This isn't happening._

  
  


_You're dreaming again._

  
  


_This isn't real._

  
  


_It's. Not. Real._

  
  


 

  
  


“Sans of Snowdin Town,” Asgore's familiar rumble felt as if it were shaking his bones apart. He stood tall, his horns scraping the door frame as he entered their home uninvited, his dark armor gleaming brightly and his royal raiment flapping slightly in the snowy breeze. “I hereby find you guilty of treason.”

  
  


 

  
  


Undyne stood almost directly behind the horned monster, silently mouthing _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry._ Sans felt lightheaded and numb, not caring that his mouth was still hanging open. This couldn't be real. Of course it wasn't real, this wasn't happening. It _couldn't_ happen. Not yet. Not now. Not when he had finally allowed himself to feel alright again, not now. It wasn't right. It wasn't _fair_.

  
  


 

  
  


“Human,” Asgore said a little more quietly, his polished armor shining in the dim light. Frisk gawked at him with fear plain on their face, but they shakily stood from their seat and tucked their hands into their sleeves. “You know what it is that we must do.”

“No!” Sans sputtered, struggling to stand on shaking legs. “No, _no_ no-!”

  
  


“Sans.”

  
  


 

  
  


He froze at Frisk's light voice as they gently took his hand, smiling sadly up at him.

  
  


“It's... it's okay,” they said softly, just loudly enough that only he would hear. “We... we both know I'll be back soon. So don't be sad. Okay?”

  
  


“Babybones,” Sans felt like he was being punched in the gut, and his throat felt too tight. “You... you can't...!”

  
  


“It's going to be okay,” Frisk hugged him, and he could see tears welling up in their eyes. It made his soul ache, it made his chest ache, it made him _hurt_. He could easily see through their facade of bravery. Or maybe it wasn't as much of a facade as he assumed. They really were a brave kid. They were going to face their certain death, and they did it with a kind smile. They were so much _stronger_ than him, so much braver than him. Did he even stand a chance against the king himself, the strongest monster in the underground? Was there even a point to fighting back anymore? How far back would the last reset take them? Did he have time to get them to safety? Could he simply take them and Papyrus and run? How far could he really make it before they were caught?

  
  


 

  
  


“... Y-yeah,” Sans shifted stiffly beneath Asgore's watchful gaze. “I... I'll take that at face value.”

  
  


“I love you, Sans,” Frisk hugged him more tightly, and he squeezed them back.

  
  


“ _I love you too, babybones.”_

  
  


Undyne stood almost behind Asgore the entire time, armored arms crossed and lips tight. She looked so... torn. Had she sold them out? Had she confessed about Frisk's existence to the king? Why would she do that? Didn't she care? Why was this happening now? Couldn't he have just a little bit more time with them?

  
  


Why was it always so damned _unfair_?

  
  


 

  
  


“If you surrender peacefully,” Asgore said quietly as he watched them. “I will take your past... _assistances_ into account and waive this terrible action of harboring a human, for now.”

  
  


“It's really okay, Sans,” Frisk leaned up and kissed him on the cheek through his tears that he couldn't fight back anymore. “I'll... see you again soon.”

“I know, babybones.”

  
  


He knew exactly what they meant. They had no intention whatsoever of surviving their encounter with Asgore. They knew just as well as he did what would happen when the reset occurred. There was no point. No point whatsoever. He felt his resolve crumble as he collapsed in on himself, not wanting to let go as they ever so softly slipped out of his grasp and stood before the king.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Okay,” Frisk said quietly, wiping their eyes. “I'm... I'm ready.”

  
  


“Sans?” Papyrus poked his head over the upper railing, blinking sleepily in his pajamas. “What's going o-o _-oh, oh, oh dear_.” His face took on an ashen, gray pallor as he stared down at Asgore and Undyne, looking almost ready to fall over the railing. He appeared ready to be ill, and his grip on the railing was iron tight.

  
  


 

  
  


“U-Undyne...?” Papyrus choked, weak at the knees. “Your... your _highness_?”

  
  


“There will be no more words,” Asgore said solemnly. “I am... sorry. For this. For what we must do.”

  
  


Asgore took Frisk and guided them by the shoulder, nodding silently to Undyne, who wore a stony expression. Sans did what he always did. He did what he did best.

  
  


He did nothing.

  
  


He did nothing at all.

  
  


He watched silently as Frisk was taken away. Their bright little light that had been so happy just to be there. Who was so good, was so much _better_ than him, who wouldn't have sat in stunned silence if someone that they loved was taken away. And he did _nothing._

  
  


But what was he _supposed_ to do? How was he supposed to fix this? What was he supposed to even do? They were right. He would see them again soon. After the reset. All he could do was surrender. He couldn't fight the king himself. Not him. All he could do was just give up.

  
  


They were going to die.

  
  


They were going to _die_ , and there was nothing that he could do to stop it.

  
  


He was so tired. So empty.

  
  


He felt so damned empty.

  
  


 

  
  


And all he could do was watch them go.

  
  


 

  
  


“... S-Sans?” Papyrus started after them, looking back uncertainly, the distress plain in his voice. “ _Sans_! They're... snap out of it, brother, that's the king! What just happened?! He-he-he t-took _Frisk_ , Sans, what... what do we _do_?”

  
  


“Easy,” Sans couldn't even bring himself to cry anymore. “Just give up. I did.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


The house felt so... empty.

  
  


It was all so empty.

  
  


 

  
  


“What do we do?” Papyrus paced back and forth, hand held to his head. “Oh god. Oh _god_ , what do we do, Sans?”

  
  


“There's nothing that we can do,” his own voice sounded so... hollow. So drained. “We can't do anything but wait until we start over. And over. And over.”

  
  


“What?” Papyrus balked at him. “Sans, this is _serious_! Why was Asgore here? How did he find out? What do we do?!”

  
  


“We wait,” Sans said in a tone much calmer than he felt, taking a sip of what remained of his coffee. That he had been sharing with Frisk. That maybe he would be sharing again soon just so that it could happen all over again. “That's... that's all we can do, Paps. We wait.”

  
  


“Not a _chance_!” Papyrus slammed a gloved fist onto the table, making him jump. “I'm _not_ going to just _stand_ here and let them take our Frisk, I don't _care_ if he's the king, this-this is _wrong_ , Sans!”

  
  


“And what do you propose we do, then?” Sans asked, wiping a sleeve across his eyes. “What can we even _do_ , Paps?”

  
  


“Simple,” Papyrus threw his battle body on and donned his scarf, his eye sockets full to the brim with determination. “ _We go get them back.”_

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 


	29. Bonetown Showdown

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus, once again, was right.

  
  


He couldn't just give up.

  
  


He couldn't afford _not_ to care anymore.

  
  


 

  
  


“... So what's the plan?” Sans tried to ask calmly, even though his hands were trembling badly. “Storm the castle?”

  
  


This wasn't just stupid. It was unbelievably stupid. There was no way that it would work out.

  
  


“If we have to,” Papyrus said grimly. “One way or another, we are not just going to _sit by_ and let this happen. _Capiche_?”

  
  


“Did... did you just _capiche_ me?” Sans blinked in shock. “That's... that's _my_ thing.”

  
  


“There is not a chance in _hell_ that I'm letting him get away with this! Maybe if we run we can catch up to them,” Papyrus readjusted his scarf as he swiftly finished and donned his battle body, his eye sockets almost burning with intensity. “We're getting them _back_ , and that's that. If the king disagrees with that, he can kiss my bony _butt_ , now let's _move_ , Sans!”

  
  


“P-Paps,” he started uncertainly. How was he supposed to tell him? How was he expected to even understand just how pointless it all was? “Just... just listen to me for a sec-”

  
  


“Time is wasting, Sans,” Papyrus clapped his hands on his shoulders. “On second thought, you had better stay here. It might not be safe for you. I'm going to talk to the king and get Frisk back!”

  
  


 

  
  


And with that he was bolting out the door, leaving a somewhat stunned Sans sitting at the kitchen table uncertain of quite what to do or even what he was doing. The front door hadn't even been closed, and a few stray snowflakes made their way inside. Sans rifled numbly through his jacket pockets for a moment before drawing out a dog biscuit. He lit it slowly and took a long, slow drag before blowing a smoke ring out through his nostril bone.

  
  


“... What am I doing,” he stood slowly, shaking his head. “What in the actual _fuck_ am I doing with my life.”

  
  


The lights flickered momentarily as he vanished with a little burst of static that scorched the air, leaving the house empty once more.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans fell from the shortcut a little short of breath, and took a moment as he clasped his knees. He was getting too old for this. He wiped his brow and let out an unsteady breath, staring down yet again at the golden checkered hall that plagued his nightmares so frequently. Except this time, he wasn't waiting patiently leaning against one of the pillars. Frisk wasn't here. There was no dust littering the floor, no blood splatters and ruptured earth from broken bones.

  
  


That didn't mean he didn't still see it, though.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans closed his eye sockets momentarily and took a slow breath before forcing himself to walk, dragging his slippers across the tiles. He could do this. All he was doing was confronting the strongest monster in the entire Underground and was possibly walking right into his death.

  
  


But Frisk needed him.

  
  


Frisk needed him to be there for them.

  
  


For them... maybe death wasn't so bad.

  
  


 

  
  


Sans picked up the pace a little, clenching his fists in his pockets. The warm tingling in his chest was back and he finally allowed it to burn, the fire in his belly raging hotter than ever. Frisk needed him. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that he wasn't going to be there for them. He could sense them, he could feel them not far away, and he didn't even stop as he trudged like a man on death row over the royal flowerbed. He felt one of his slippers get caught in the flowers, but when he checked there was nothing there. His head felt heavy and his mind was numb, but that was fine. He didn't particularly want to be especially lucid for what was coming next.

  
  


 

  
  


“Human.”

  
  


 

  
  


The sound of Asgore's low baritone almost shook the stone walls as Sans descended closer and closer down the hall that lead to the barrier, that place that he had been so very many times. The barrier that kept them all locked down in this dark prison. And if Asgore had brought the human there, then there was only one thing that he meant to do. There was no longer any doubt in Sans's mind as to what he had to do.

  
  


 

  
  


“You know what it is that we must do,” Asgore was kneeling a little in front of the shaking child. The collected souls were jutting up from the ground in their containers, one last empty container awaiting the child. He wasn't surprised to see that Undyne was no longer with him. Maybe she just couldn't watch as someone she'd betrayed was about to be killed. He dimly reminded himself to have words with her if he survived this. “I... I am sorry. It was... nice to meet you.”

  
  


Asgore's hand flickered in a flash of red light as his familiar trident was summoned from thin air, his arms raised high to strike-

  
  


 

  
  


Asgore went crashing to the ground as his soul flashed blue, his trident skittering away across the stone floor. Frisk jolted at the sight, head whipping around to face him, their eyes full of terror.

  
  


“Beautiful day outside,” Sans said calmly as he stepped toward the king out of the shadows, who was kneeling and struggling against gravity to pull himself up. Sans could feel the intense strain of keeping Asgore pinned to the ground, and it was a testament to the king's raw, snapping power that he was already shrugging it off. “Birds are singing. Flowers are blooming.”

  
  


“Sans!” Asgore boomed, finally drawing himself up to his full height, his royal raiment flapping in the warm wind tossed about by the barrier. “What is the meaning of this?”

  
  


“What do you _think_?” Sans's fists clenched tightly in his pocket as he stood next to Frisk. He felt so _small_ compared to the king. He suddenly felt his own frailty, his own mortality staring him in the face. All it would take was a single hit. His soul was pounding furiously in his chest, but he pressed on regardless. It was impossible to keep the king down, he was stronger than Sans and he knew it. “You really think I'm just gonna sit back while you murder my kid?”

  
  


 

  
  


Asgore looked away, the shame clear on his face. He didn't look as angry as Sans expected. He anticipated shouting, screaming, demanding, threats... anything but that. He just looked so... old. So weary. So tired.

  
  


It hurt, in a familiar sort of way. Asgore was his friend. He had done unspeakable things for the king, and without question. But this... this was too far. He had to understand.

  
  


 

  
  


“It doesn't have ta end like this, your highness,” Sans said quietly, placing a hand gently on Frisk's shoulder, who was glancing nervously back and forth between them. “C'mon, man. Let's... just talk about this. We-we could make somma that gross tea you like so much. Please, Asgore. Just... just don't take my babybones from me.”

  
  


Asgore opened and closed his mouth several times, looking... uncertain. He finally snapped his jaw shut, sighing deeply, his hands falling limp at his sides.

  
  


“This... cannot change, Sans,” Asgore said softly, looking away. “We are at war with humanity-”

  
  


“Against kids?” Sans insisted. “You really think a _ten year old_ knows anything about warfare?”

  
  


“Their age does not change anything,” he frowned, staring him down. “That human is the key to our freedom. To our _salvation_.”

  
  


And, for only a moment, he sounded like _him_.

  
  


 

  
  


“... It doesn't _have_ to be this way,” Sans tried desperately, uncertain if he could even summon enough magical power to stop the king at his full strength. He wasn't certain that he wanted to know. He was sweating terribly, and he could feel the lights in his eye sockets fading as he reached deeper and deeper for magic, power beginning to crackle dangerously along his phalanges. “Please, just _listen_ to me, Asgore. After everything that I've _done_ for you, don't I at least deserve _that_ much?”

  
  


It was like watching ice melt under a flame. His stony expression faded away as he sighed heavily, his shoulders slowly drooping as he began to cave in under his gleaming armor.

  
  


 

  
  


“This... this does not have to happen... just yet,” Asgore let out a long, unsteady breath through his caprine nostrils, bowing his head. “Perhaps... yes. I can... I can give you time. For you, my friend, I will... allow you time.”

  
  


Sans felt like his legs were made of jelly as he released the magic and his breath at the same time, and he pulled the relieved Frisk into a tight hug. They wrapped their arms with bated breath around his neck, and he could feel just how badly they were trembling.

  
  


They really were prepared to die. They had stood before Asgore himself and faced down death, and did it with a smile. God, they were so much braver than him. They looked like a living fire in the light of the glowing souls lined up in their containers. Sans wished that he could stop remembering that they were all once living humans, _people_ that were there because of him. He could just focus on Frisk. Try to forget. God how he wanted to forget.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans?” Frisk asked softly so that only he could hear.

  
  


“I'm here, babybones,” Sans murmured quietly, stroking their hair and holding them close. He could feel the fiery heat of their soul beside him, so warm, so kind, so alive. That was the way that he wanted them to stay. Alive. Safe. Happy.

  
  


Asgore tried to say something to them. Sans wasn't certain of what it was. He never really found out.

  
  


The king's lips moved, but no words came out. Possibly because of the thick vine wrapped tightly around his neck. He was jerked upwards toward the ceiling like a rubber band and came to a halt with a sudden, wicked _snap_! He fell still almost immediately, going completely limp.

  
  


 

  
  


“Fuck - get behind me!” Sans instructed Frisk promptly, summoning magic as quickly as he could. Frisk obeyed but didn't release his arm, trying to tell him something, but he couldn't quite make it out over the pounding in his head.

  
  


“ _Howdy!”_

  
  


Sans balked down at the wretched creature that had caused them so much suffering. The creature that had played with their lives like they were so many toys. The _thing_ that haunted him for so long.

  
  


 

  
  


“Whassup, petals?” Sans threw out an arm as soon as he saw the flower, reaching for it's soul.

  
  


He couldn't find it.

  
  


It was like grabbing water. Flowey just giggled loudly as vines wrapped and warped as thick as tree trunks from the walls, the ground, the ceiling and _covered_ the room, blocking the exit and even covering up the entire barrier. He'd never seen _that_ particular trick before. Sans threw out whirling, slicing conjured bones, but for every vine that he cut through three more would take its place. Since when had the flower gotten this _strong_? It had only been-

  
  


_The souls were gone._

  
  


 

  
  


“Thanks for weakening that old fool for me,” Flowey burrowed into the earth and swiftly resurfaced, dodging yet another spinning bone attack with a smirk. “Golly, I might have _never_ gotten this far if it weren't for _you_.”

  
  


“Fuck off, fertilizer muncher!” Sans yanked his fist down, drawing a Gaster Blaster from the void. He felt the rumbling of the living skeletal machine as energy hummed for a bare moment, scorching the air and incinerating the plant at long last. Sans crowed in victory, turning to face Frisk-

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk was hanging by their legs with a vine wrapped tightly around their mouth and neck, one arm free and slapping uselessly at the emerald appendages. Their muffled shouts were overwhelmed by the ripping sound of vines slamming into the earth around him as he barely managed to slip away. Sans cast out his arm to send another bone attack to cut them down, but his arm never even made it from his side. More vines burst out of the ground and wrapped around him, dragging him down and slamming him hard into the earth. His breath was knocked from his chest and he coughed dirt from his mouth, his head spinning wildly. He tasted _dust_ in his mouth, it had been a while since he'd had that awful memory resurface. The flower popped up out of the ground gleefully inches from his face; how? How had it managed that when he'd literally just _blasted_ it into oblivion?

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Golly_ ,” Flowey poked the restrained skeleton in the side of the head with a vine, grinning at him. Like he'd never even been scorched to bits at all. “You can't _imagine_ how _long_ I've waited for this moment, trashbag. Hee hee. How unbearably _tortuous_ it's been to _finally_ get to this point.”

  
  


“Let – _go_...!” Sans struggled, reaching for his magic-

  
  


He felt a sudden electrical _burst_ as he jolted and shuddered in pain, gasping for breath as he felt like he was being drained like a living battery.

  
  


 

  
  


“Hmm. Not that watching you fight for your life isn't _entertaining_ and all,” Flowey raised himself up on his stem, which was steadily growing thicker as his face contorted into a demonic leer. “But I think it's time that I teach you all the _real_ meaning of this world.”

  
  


 

  
  


He cackled deviously as Sans was slammed into the ground again, reaching out uselessly for the flailing child held suspended in midair. He needed to break out, needed to help Frisk, needed to stay _alive_ ; he spit out a half mouthful of dust, he could feel his ribs cracking as he was wracked with pain.

  
  


“Monsters,” Flowey's face took on an imitation of a goat monster. “Humans,” it warped into a crude fascimile of Frisk's face before shifting into a slowly spinning amalgam of features. “Everyone. In this world, it's KILL – OR – BE – _KILLED!”_

  
  


“Reset!” Sans screamed with what little breath he had, unable to pull himself free no matter how desperately he fought. “Frisk, RESET! _NOW_!”

  
  


 

  
  


Nothing happened.

  
  


At first.

  
  


 

  
  


There was a brilliant flash of light and he was almost blinded, his eye sockets squeezing shut reflexively. For a long moment it was completely dark. He couldn't see Frisk. He couldn't see Flowey. He couldn't even see his own body or the ground which he was still pinned to. He felt half alive, more stunned than anything that he wasn't dead yet.

  
  


And then, it came.

  
  


 

  
  


It was like watching a _nightmare_ come to life. A horrid, abominable mishmash of fleshy tree trunk sized vines, shuddering tubing warping around attached to eyes, too many eyes, too many gigantic mouths, too many _teeth_...! Just looking at the thing was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. He could smell a horrible overwhelming scent of pollen and earthy scents that burned his nostril bones.

  
  


“W-what?” Sans couldn't manage to blink the image out of his eyes as light from what appeared to be a television screen flickered to life, illuminating the monstrosity. “What in the fresh _fuck_?!”

  
  


“Tee hee hee...!” Flowey's familiar giggle emanated from the screen. His face burst out of it with a smirk, and he grinned down at them smugly. “Golly. So _this_ is what having a human soul feels like.”

  
  


The human souls turned the flower into this... _thing_? Sans was suddenly glad that he had never touched one of them. He couldn't use magic to reach out and grab them, but at this point he wouldn't even want one of those horrifying things _near_ him. He could only imagine what kind of abomination he might have been transformed into. He tried and struggled to reach for the magic again, and nothing happened. It was like the vines constricting him were leeching the very life out of him. He felt so tired, so weak, so _helpless_.

  
  


 

  
  


“F-Flowey!” Frisk managed to yank the vine from their mouth, choking and gasping for breath to pull the vine from around their neck. Thick, bleeding bruises were blossoming across them and the screaming inside his head just grew louder. “Flowey, please...!”

  
  


“ _Flowey, please!”_ he mocked them gleefully, shaking them a little in his grip. “Now I'm the one with the power, and god it feels so good,” Flowey giggled again, and all of the vines smothering the room seemed to jiggle with him. “And it's all thanks to _you_. I just need _one_ more soul... before I become a true _god_. And, golly, _guess who's got that last soul?”_

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk fought uselessly at the vines keeping them dangling from the ceiling, kicking and biting and thrashing to no avail. Sans gave them credit, they were determined as all hell.

  
  


 

  
  


“But don't you worry,” he snickered again, violently _jerking_ them sideways and causing them to scream in pain. “I'm going to take my _time_ with this. I've been waiting for so, so _long_.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Had the world reset? Sans coughed and tried to clutch his head, but found that he was still restricted to the ground by a mass of thorny vines. He could feel them jabbing into him from every angle, and nothing he did could get him free-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


The world reset.

  
  


They were still by the covered barrier, and he could swear that he heard ticking somewhere. Sans shouted and kicked to try to free himself, unable to do anything but watch as Flowey dangled Frisk in front of him.

  
  


 

  
  


“F-Frisk?” Sans choked, gawking at their bloody body. How many resets had just happened? His whole body ached and _burned,_ but he couldn't shake it off. They didn't move. They didn't breathe. They weren't moving and _oh god please let them be okay!_

  
  


 

  
  


“Well, would you look at that,” Flowey said as if he were discussing the weather. “Humans sure do break easily, huh? Awfully _useless_ , these things.”

  
  


“ _Fuck_ you!” Sans screamed, his throat feeling hoarse from how much he was shouting. “Let them go, you bastard!”

  
  


“Well, if you _insist_ ,” Flowey drawled and giggled again. He hauled Frisk higher into the air, and he could see them twitching in his grip. Then he _hurtled_ them violently into the ground, sending them crashing and tumbling over the floor. Sans kicked and fought and suddenly found himself released from the viny grip, and he stumbled and crawled his way to the broken, battered child. He needed to get to them, Frisk _needed_ him why weren't they moving, there should have been a reset by now if they were this damaged... Their arms were twisted and bent at a horrible angle, their legs splayed awkwardly, and there was a gaping hole in their side. Sans _sobbed_ desperately and pushed at the viscera, struggling to push it back inside them. It was happening again. It was his fault. Once again, their blood was on his hands.

  
  


 

  
  


He cried silently as he tried to put them back together, the unmoving child in his arms feeling colder than they had ever felt. He couldn't sense their soul, he didn't care how badly he hurt, he just wanted them to be _okay_ and nothing was going right and oh god their blood was everywhere, there was so much of it all over-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans jolted violently as he was jerked back through reality, too many memories crashing together. His head felt like it was splitting and he couldn't fight his way out of the vines. Frisk was dangerously hanging from their ankles by the ceiling, kicking and crying as they were swung back and forth.

  
  


 

  
  


“We're going to have so much _fun_ ,” Flowey giggled. “ _I'm_ the one in control of the timelines now, just the way it _should_ be.”

“Please!” Frisk screamed, and Sans felt so numb, so hollow, he couldn't escape. “ _Please_ , Flowey, s-stop!”

  
  


“Stop?” he laughed cruelly. “What, now that we've come this _far_? It's too late for that, idiot. We're going to play together _forever_. At least, until I get _bored_. But let's not break our toys just yet, hmm?”

  
  


“Let them go!” Sans coughed and pushed at the thorny vines restraining him to the earth, unable to even raise his head or look away from the sight. He could still see the blood, still feel the gore in his hands as he struggled to put them back together and it was all wrong, everything was wrong! “Y-you fuck, you twisted f- _fuck!”_

  
  


 

  
  


“Speaking of _toys_ ,” Flowey turned his bright screen toward him, and he saw that the face on it was shifting rapidly in black and white, tossing and turning and screaming silently. Like something inside him was _shrieking_ and this was the visual result. “I'm going to finally have a _lot_ of fun breaking _you_.”

  
  


Sans felt a tightness as he was yanked through the air, too tight to think, too tight to _breathe_...!

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


How many resets had it been?

  
  


Dozens?

Hundreds?

  
  


 

  
  


He couldn't tell anymore. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it never did.

  
  


 

  
  


“Come _on_ ,” Flowey yelled at him, his voice echoing a little as he bounced Sans through the air. “I'm getting _bored_ here. You don't want me to have to go and hunt down your brother for fun, do you?”

  
  


Sans couldn't even bring himself to swear at the abomination any longer. He'd shouted himself hoarse. Or was that in a previous reset? The vines jamming into his throat made him too sore to scream anymore. All he could see were the images from past resets flashing through his mind. He felt so numb. So empty.

  
  


So tired.

  
  


Empty.

  
  


Empty.

  
  


Empty.

  
  


_Empty._

  
  


_Empty._

  
  


_Empty.... Frisk. Protect Frisk._

  
  


 

  
  


Right. Frisk was here. Where was here, anyway? How long had he been 'here'? He could see the child hanging limply in the vines. How many times had he been forced to watch them die? How many times had he been restrained and forced to watch as they were...? They looked at him pleadingly, silently begging. Did they not even know how useless he was? He couldn't protect them. He couldn't save them. He couldn't even save himself. There was no point in fighting anymore. No point in anything.

  
  


 

  
  


“Oh, for Pete's sake,” Flowey rolled his eyes, flipping Sans upside down. He whipped his massive screen through the air, swinging it to face the human. “Hey, Frisk. Did you know that humans have a holiday called Thanksgiving?”

  
  


Frisk didn't respond, only silently mouthing something to Sans. There was that ticking again, annoying as ever.

  
  


“Let's see what a _wishbone_ looks like, huh? Flowey giggled, and Sans felt his legs slowly being spread, pulled taut and painfully being yanked, too much, too far. Sans _screamed_ in pain as he was suddenly jerked, the agony spreading through his legs, thighs, his spine-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“ _What's your name, little guy?”_

  
  


“ _Pa pa pa pa pap?”_

  
  


“ _That's a weird name. Can't really speak much, huh?”_

  
  


“ _Pa pa pa.”_

  
  


“ _Don't worry, little fella. I'll teach you. You're gonna be okay here. Just... stick close to me. I'll keep you safe, okay?”_

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Reset.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Reset.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Reset.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


_Reset_.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt like his mind was leaking out of his eye sockets, or maybe that was just the hot tears leaving streaks down his cheeks. He couldn't see clearly anymore. The pain was too intense. Too much. He couldn't think. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe properly. There was no escape. He hated this, he _hated_ it, squirming, nasty things filling him and thrashing and _taking_ -

  
  


 

  
  


“ _Sans~y,_ ” Flowey wriggled around and drew him closer through the air. “Come on. What am I going to have to do to get a _reaction_ out of you two, huh?”

  
  


Sans blinked woozily, unable to quite focus. That was right. Frisk was here. Trapped in this special hell with him. He could barely make out their figure hanging upside down. He couldn't move. Couldn't reach them. Couldn't hold them and tell them that it would be okay no matter how much of a lie it was. Couldn't save them. Couldn't save himself. Couldn't save anyone. He flailed anyway. Weakly, but he tried. He needed to reach out to them. Frisk. His little Frisk, they were hurting just as much as he was. He reached and stretched as far as the vines would allow, the twisting spiked appendage wrapping through his forearm and _shattering_ it. Was someone screaming? Oh. Right. That was him. Funny how the nonstop nightmare sort of numbed him to the experience after a while. It felt like it was years. Awful, foul, dirty things twisting and pushing and stabbing, he couldn't think. Couldn't focus. Too many resets. Too much pain. Humiliation. Desperation.

_It's your fault._

  
  


 

  
  


“How about this?” Flowey pulled Frisk over in front of him so that he could see. The vines around his neck tightened and forced him to stare straight ahead, unable to look away. “I'm going to see how far I can push vines into them until they start poking out their _mouth_. Let's have some _fun_ , huh friends?”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Reset.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Reset.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


… _Reset?_

  
  


  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Sans felt like he was watching a film. A horrible film that he couldn't look away from, no matter how tightly he squeezed his eye sockets closed. He no longer had control over his own limbs. He could feel himself fighting back weakly, not even enough to properly push. He couldn't get the images out of his head. Couldn't look away from what he was doing. What that wretched _thing_ was _making_ him do. He hated himself for even thinking it but he quietly hoped that Frisk was dead. They didn't deserve to suffer through this. Death would be better. There was no point at all. And the screaming. God, the awful, awful _screaming_ would never leave his head, bouncing around even though they had fallen utterly silent so long ago.

  
  


 

  
  


“I'll _kill_ you,” he sputtered, sobbing dryly. “I'll k-kill you, you sonofabitch, I'll _kill_ you...!”

  
  


Sans felt his neck _snap_ as he was slammed into the ground-

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


How long had he been here?

  
  


How long had it been?

  
  


Did it matter at all? He couldn't tell. Couldn't focus. Couldn't think.

  
  


 

  
  


“Come on, Sans,” Flowey said in an exasperated tone, screen leaning over him. He could feel the disgusting breath from the gigantic gaping sideways mouth on him, he couldn't breathe... and why was that damned clock still ticking? “What's it going to take, huh? Did you really break already? I can think of more ways to get you to react, my little toy. And trust me, you're not going to like any of them,” he giggled again. “We've got _literally_ forever. I'm going to kill you again, and again, and again. And _worse._ Scream for me some more, huh? Frisk won't scream now. Useless human. Come on, I'm getting _bored_! Scream for help, why don't you?”

  
  


“H-help,” he wheezed, almost in a laugh. Like help would ever come.

  
  


“Louder!” Flowey shook him. “That's not how you scream for help; _this_ is how you scream for help!”

  
  


He was helpless to do anything but watch as vines constricted around Frisk tightly and they screamed in pain as thorns jabbed into their flesh. He kicked futilely and thrashed and fought, shouting himself hoarse, yelling words he didn't even think about.

  
  


“ _PAPYRUS!”_

  
  


 

  
  


“... _That's_ who you call for?” Flowey scoffed and mocked him with a little shake, grinning. “Ooh, look at the big bad skeleton, crying for his useless brother-”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans blinked.

  
  


The ticking.

  
  


Just barely, but he could hear it.

  
  


_Ticking._

  
  


He was going insane.

He still heard it.

Ticking.

  
  


No.

  
  


Not ticking. It was almost like _bone_.

  
  


It was like the sound of... chipping?

  
  


 

  
  


It was utterly silent for a moment.

  
  


And then, Sans and everything else was rocked by a massive explosion.

  
  


 

  
  


Shredded vines _blasted_ through the air, disintegrating before they hit the ground, withered and brown. A gigantic hole had been blown through the wall of vines, light pouring in through the barrier and illuminating the dark. And there, in the midst of the chaos and carnage with flapping scarf and a conjured femur held like a sword in one hand, stood Papyrus.

  
  


 

  
  


“Say, 'bud',' Papyrus stepped into the dark room without a moment's hesitation. “I'm gonna have to ask you to 'leaf' them alone.”

  
  


“ _Papyrus?!”_ Flowey gawked at him, mouth hanging open. “How did – _wait_. I'm sorry, just, wait. Did... did _you_ just...?”

“I just,” Papyrus said simply, hurtling his bone at a ferocious speed through the air. Vines flew up in front of his screened face, but it wasn't where Papyrus was even aiming, although several stray bones bolted into the vines and jutted out at wild angles. Too many to count. Sans felt himself fall through the air as the vines constricting him were sliced down. His head felt heavy like it was full of water and he couldn't stand, but Papyrus was there with a gentle touch to help him to his knees. He had to be dreaming or something. Another hallucination. Another whipped bone attack sent Frisk falling through the air and Papyrus caught them deftly in his free hand, the shaking child sobbing silently in his arms.

  
  


 

  
  


“... So,” Papyrus started as Flowey pulled the vines from his face, drawing up one of his massive viny arms into the air to ready an attack. “Just a few things. You hurt my friends. You hurt my _family_. You really, _really_ shouldn't have done that.”

  
  


Papyrus nodded to Sans, and he got the picture. He knew he woulnd't be able to fight. Not at this point. Sans summoned the last dregs of magic that he could manage, and instead of using it in an attack, he sent it coursing down his arm and into Papyrus's gloved hand. Papyrus shuddered with a gasp for a moment before immediately nodding again and casting out his arm toward the abomination.

  
  


 

  
  


“Flowey,” Papyrus said slowly. “I'm a pretty firm believer that everyone can be a good person. But _you_? I don't think that I really believe in you anymore.”

  
  


“Do you even know who you're _talking_ to?” Flowey scoffed as the exit was sealed over by fresh vines. Papyrus's arm was glowing with a sharp blue light that cast dancing shadows over everything, somehow even making the thing that Flowey had turned into seem even more menacing. “Oh, I cannot _wait_ to make you suffer-!”

  
  


“What have you done with the king?”

  
  


“That old fool?” Flowey cackled as more vines replaced the ones that had been cut down. Massive tree trunk sized things that burst out of the ground, whirling and whipping. “What even is a king, compared to a _god_?”

  
  


“What is a god to a _nonbeliever_?” Papyrus said without missing a beat. He threw out his arm and Flowey sent up a half dozen vines to block the attack-

  
  


 

  
  


Except that Papyrus didn't throw bones.

  
  


Six blue souls were suddenly _ejected_ violently from Flowey, bursting out of the fleshy vines and tubes as he screamed in agony, green viscera flowing from the wounds. The souls were pulled directly to Papyrus and they floated wildly around him for a moment. Both skeletons watched stunned, even Papyrus looked put off by what he had just yanked out of the freakish creature. Frisk gawked at the sight as they gently fell into a slowly spinning circle around them, light pouring brightly from them and almost making the child glow before them. It was like Frisk was a human magnet for the glowing things, awestruck and wide eyed.

  
  


 

  
  


Flowey _screamed_ in rage, the face on the screen contorting violently from face to different face.

  
  


“You think this changes anything?” he laughed manically, emerald goo leaking from a crack in the screen. “I'll just reset and... and...”

  
  


The face on the screen suddenly began to sweat.

  
  


“Go on,” Papyrus conjured another bone and twirled it through his fingers. “As you were saying?

“This is _impossible_!” Flowey bellowed, the whole room shaking. “That's not _fair!_ I've killed you _hundreds_ of times!”

  
  


“Yes, that may be true,” Papyrus swung upward without taking his eyes off the screen, slashing right through one of the massive vines. Like it was nothing. The remainder of it came crashing to the ground behind them as Papyrus hurtled his bone weapon directly into yet another set of vines, sending them crashing to the ground. “But have we ever _fought_?”

  
  


“I _killed_ you-!”

  
  


“Nyeh heh heh. That would be a _no_ , then,” Papyrus said calmly, using his magic to summon a shield of bones surrounding Sans and Frisk as a hail of white magical bullets rained down on them, all deflected. “You see, I usually believe that everyone deserves a fair fight, but I learned from someone that I love very much that sometimes... it's best to not fight fair at all.”

  
  


 

  
  


One of Flowey's enormous arm like vines flew up into the air and screwed downward at a spiral toward Papyrus, ready to crush him-

  
  


Instead, Papyrus deftly grabbed Sans by the shoulder and pulled him and Frisk to the left, keeping them firmly out of danger.

  
  


“Would you hold _still_?!” Flowey screamed in rage, screen thrashing left and right as Papyrus dodged one slam after another. The skeleton nimbly leapt up onto the massive vine, orange fire burning in his right eye. “I'm trying to _murder_ you here - I'll kill you, I'll kill _everyone you love!”_

  
  


Sans fought and struggled to remain conscious, darkness creeping in at the corners of his vision. He was so _tired,_ any moment another reset was coming and he _knew_ it, but Frisk kept pulling him further away from his brother. Flowey slammed one of his other vines at Papyrus, but the skeleton only leaped with grace and slipped further up the vine and watched as green gore splattered across the floor from the strike.

  
  


 

  
  


“You can't _do_ this!” Flowey whined viciously, scowling at him. “I am the GOD o f this world! Who do you think you _are?!”_

  
  


“I,” Papyrus stormed up the vine toward the screen, clutched fists crackling with overflowing magic, his face alight with pure, unadulterated rage with a billow of orange flame crackling in his eye socket. “Am the Great – _fucking_ – _PAPYRUS_!”

  
  


And with that, Papyrus reeled back his fist and _punched Flowey in the face._

  
  


The screen _exploded_ in a collision of glass and bone and fleshy matter and magic, splattering over as he fell through the air and taking the skeleton with him. Vines collapsed all around them and turned to dust and ash, falling like dark snowflakes. The previously thrashing, smashing vines fell still and went limp with heavy thuds to the floor, it was hard to see his brother through the chaos but Sans kept a tight grip on Frisk like they were an anchor in a hurricane. There was a violent flash of light and Sans covered his eye sockets to keep from being blinded, shielding Frisk's face with his other arm in case of any more fletchettes of glass.

  
  


And for all the world, it was like time stood still.

  
  


When he opened his eye sockets, the vines surrounding them were all turning to dust, some of them withering slowly and drooping to the ground as decay overtook them. Sans saw Papyrus kneeling gently over the little sobbing flower, one arm tucked to his side. The flower was wilting horribly and half of his petals were torn off, his face leaking green goo. Papyrus cupped the flower in one hand, looking down at him sadly.

  
  


 

  
  


“Th-that w-was... so... _cool_ ,” Flowey giggled madly as the last few of his petals turned to ash. “Oh my _god_ , Papyrus. I _knew_ you had it in you.”

  
  


“I'm... I'm so sorry, little friend,” Papyrus said softly, cupping the dying creature in one hand. “I'm so sorry. I... I couldn't save you from yourself.”

  
  


“You... always were...” Flowey wheezed as he faded away. “My... _f-favorite_... toy.”

  
  


 

  
  


Flowey turned to rusty brown tear streaked dust in Papyrus's hand, and soon all that was left was dancing ashes through the air.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus's LOVE has increased.


	30. A Good Person

0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus knelt with one arm tucked against his side, unmoving for the longest time.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Hey,” Sans managed to drag himself toward his brother, despite feeling as if he could take a hundred year nap. He couldn't walk, but he could drag himself and shuffle, so it would have to do. “Bro. Gotta say... that-that was pretty fuckin' boss.”

  
  


“Do you think...” Papyrus said softly as the dust and flecks of plant matter drifted through his fingers. “Do you think that... maybe... he could have been good, Sans?”

  
  


“Not anymore,” he responded darkly, placing a hand on Papyrus's shoulder. “That... _thing_ was about as far from good as he could possibly _get_.”

  
  


God, he'd never be able to tell him. Not anyone, not ever. At least his brother hadn't been forced to see what had... he wouldn't think about it. If he didn't think about it, it wouldn't be a problem, and he wouldn't wind up puking his nonexistent guts out again from the memory. Papyrus only sighed and shook his head slowly. He glanced over to see Frisk peeking from around Sans, their eyes wide as saucers. They hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment, before bolting to him and wrapping their arms around his neck. Papyrus cringed as if in pain, but gently patted the back of their head as they silently sobbed against him.

  
  


 

  
  


“It's alright, Frisk,” Papyrus said softly. “It's okay. It's _okay._ ”

  
  


This only caused them to cry harder, clinging desperately to him. Sans shifted from foot to foot for a moment before Papyrus sighed and nodded him over, letting Sans join in on the hug. Papyrus flinched again and let out a hiss through his teeth, and Sans looked at him with uncertainty.

  
  


 

  
  


“It's fine,” Papyrus said through his teeth and shook his head. “You should see to the king, Sans.”

  
  


Sans had almost completely forgotten about him. Was he even still alive? He didn't even see the lump of motionless figure until Papyrus pointed him out, laying amongst the rubble in the dark. Sans forced himself forward with trepidation, feeling almost as if he were still in a dream. Dropping to the ground and never getting back up seemed awfully enticing at this point. If all of this were a dream, he certainly wasn't ready to awaken just yet. He couldn't bear the thought of waking to seeing that, to being – he couldn't wake up to that again. He was fearful, though, that he would be walking over the king's dust and find nothing but his royal garb lying on the ground, but instead, to his immense relief, he found the king lying face down. He groaned quietly when Sans cautiously placed a sweaty hand on his head.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Sans?” Asgore rumbled blearily, sitting up slowly as the skeleton helped him. “What... what happened?”

  
  


“That depends,” Sans answered quietly. “How much do you remember?”

  
  


“I... I remember...” Asgore started uncertainly. “Something... grabbed me,” he felt for invisible cords around his neck, and Sans saw that there was indeed a terrible gash across his throat from where he had been yanked away. It looked like someone had painted a horrible thick line from one side of his neck to another. “And it was... dark. I think I saw a flash of light...? I am sorry, I... can't quite seem to remember.”

  
  


Sans let out a quiet breath, still feeling shaky. He felt as if he hadn't slept in years. At least that was some consolation. Asgore, at the very least, wouldn't be haunted by the horrible images of what had occurred.

  
  


 

  
  


“ASGORE _DREEMURR_!”

  
  


The king flinched immediately upon hearing the familiar voice, struggling to stand. Sans was helping him to his feet when he heard her, and he almost collapsed upon hearing the voice. That furious but familiar voice. Bright, flickering flames were wrapped around her clenched fists as she stormed through the broken entrance to the room containing the barrier, sending shadows dancing around them.

  
  


 

  
  


“T-Tori?”

  
  


“Don't you 'Tori' _me_ , Dreemurr!” the caprine woman snapped angrily, stomping straight through rapidly decaying plant matter without even missing a stride. “You aren't to lay a single _finger_ on that child!”

  
  


“I _know_ you,” Sans balked, almost too afraid to believe it. “I know that voice...!”

  
  


“Oh!” Toriel blinked, clearing her throat and adjusting her violet robe after a moment, her face softening when she blinked and glanced down at him. “I recognize yours as well. Would you happen to be my skeleton friend, perchance?”

  
  


“Hey, don't let me hold you up,” he shrugged and took a step away from the king, who looked very much as if he had just been thrown under the bus. “Looks like you got a _bone_ to pick with the big guy.”

  
  


Toriel snickered, which made his soul soar. There was already too much to deal with right now, and the fact that the woman he had been telling jokes to for so long was the long missing queen was way, way too much to handle right now. The queen was here. The freaking queen. He turned back towards Papyrus, who was still kneeling at an awkward angle with Frisk and holding them with one arm, but was interrupted before he could even make it to his brother.

  
  


 

  
  


“Nobody fight anybody!” Undyne crashed in through the wrecked opening, armor gleaming as she brandished a spear. “Or I'll be forced to-! To... to, uh... Uh.”

  
  


“Uh?” Sans egged her with a weary grin. “C'mon, man. Finish your sentences.”

  
  


“What _happened_ in here?” Undyne balked as skittering footsteps sounded down the corridor behind her, lowering her glowing spear as she stared in shock around at the wreckage, the chunks of sliced stone missing from the walls and ceiling. She stepped in a pile of swiftly disintegrating vines, kicking disgustedly at it.

  
  


“Oh, not much,” Papyrus answered her calmly. “Normal day. Got up, had some coffee, punched a god in the face. Same old, same old.”

  
  


“U-U-Undyne, w-wait!” Alphys stumbled over her feet awkwardly behind Undyne, bumping right into her. “We h-have to... to... the human... _yikes_ ,” Alphys let out a whistling breath through her teeth. “W-what happened?”

  
  


“Do I have to tell it again?” Papyrus answered tiredly, the lines beneath his eye sockets more pronounced than ever. “Because I'm not sure that I have the energy.”

  
  


“Are you alright, my child?” Toriel knelt before Frisk. Frisk hugged them immediately, drying their eyes with their sleeve and nodding a couple of times. They still looked so pale. So frail.

  
  


But alive.

  
  


They were _alive_.

  
  


 

  
  


Like it was all just a bad dream.

  
  


Sans slipped away from the chattering monsters and slid down against one of the walls, feeling the coarse stone against his back through his jacket. His eye sockets started to droop almost right away. He was so tired. So _exhausted_. Everything that he had had been taken from him, he was too drained to fight anymore. Too tired. All he wanted to do was rest. He felt like he hadn't had that opportunity in years. He almost did fall asleep amidst the excitement were it not for Frisk, who gently pulled at his hand. He blinked drowsily a few times as they wordlessly pulled at him, and he nodded once to let them understand that even though he didn't say it, he would follow regardless. He would follow them to the ends of the earth if he had to. They were alive. There wasn't a single chance in hell he was letting them out of his sight now. Not ever, ever again.

  
  


“What is it, babybones?” Sans asked quietly. Why weren't they speaking? Frisk only shook their head and drew him closer to the barrier. His footsteps echoed a little as they retreated from the group, and he gazed upon the massive barrier locking them all within their prison.

  
  


 

  
  


And then Frisk did the unexpected. They shaped their hands into a little heart over their chest, taking a long, slow, steady breath and let it out, and when they did there was an _eruption_ of color as the souls poured from them, spinning and swirling. Sans stood back in shock, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

  
  


Frisk was a human.

  
  


_Humans can't absorb human souls._

  
  


 

  
  


They pointed their forefinger at the barrier with their hand shaped like a gun, and for a very brief moment he could have sworn that he heard them quietly say _pew_. The souls _tore_ into the barrier and vanished from sight, and for a moment, nothing happened. Then he saw what was like a crack in reality where the barrier had once stood, splitting and rippling like a stone dropped in a pond.

  
  


And just like that, the barrier was gone.

  
  


 

  
  


Frisk almost dropped and he rushed to their side, propping them up with their arm slung around his shoulder.

  
  


“H-holy _shitballs_ ,” Sans spluttered, unable to believe his eye sockets. If he hadn't seen it for himself he definitely wouldn't have believed it. He could hear birdsong not too far away, rustling wind and chirrups of crickets. This was possibly because he didn't hear the others anymore, and couldn't bring himself to speak as the crowd of curious monsters peered up at the place where the barrier had once been. “What – Frisk, _what?_ How in the flying hell...?”

  
  


 

  
  


“... It's gone,” Asgore said simply. “The barrier is... _gone_.”

  
  


“Frisk did it,” Sans breathed, his legs barely holding him up, let alone the both of them. “Frisk actually did it. We're... we're _free_.”

  
  


“I, er... s-suppose that I should _apologize_ for, um. Trying to kill you,” Asgore tapped his fingers together nervously beneath Toriel's withering glare. Frisk just shook their head with a tired little smile, their eyes full of forgiveness. They reached out and patted his hand softly, craning their neck up to see him. “You are... quite merciful. For a human,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  
  


“It's gone,” Alphys stuttered quietly, standing beside Undyne and readjusting and cleaning her glasses multiple times pointlessly. “It's gone, oh my god it's _actually_ gone, the barrier is gone...!”

  
  


“I _know_ man, this is... oh. Dude, is that your ex?” Undyne whispered a little too loudly to Asgore. Asgore swallowed dryly and nodded, looking extremely uncomfortable from the unwavering stare that Toriel was giving him. “Harsh, bro.”

  
  


 

  
  


Undyne cleared her throat and dissipated her spear, bowing cordially before the queen.

  
  


“Nice to meet you, your majesty,” Undyne gave her a huge grin. “So, what brings you here?”

  
  


“Word travels rather quickly in the Underground,” Toriel said simply. “When I heard that Dreemurr here had arrived in Snowdin,” she crossed her arms, and Asgore resumed looking at a much more interesting spot between his feet. “I came as quickly as I could manage to stop him from doing something foolhardy and stupid. Which he was _apparently_ just about to do.”

  
  


“I did say that I was sorry,” Asgore shifted nervously, her eyes burning a hole through him.

  
  


“Which wouldn't have happened at all,” Sans interjected venemously. “If _somebody_ hadn't sold us out.”

  
  


“... What are you starin' at me like that for?” Undyne balked at him.

  
  


“Don't give me that crap! Why did you tell Asgore?”

  
  


“I didn't-!” Undyne sputtered, stamping a foot against the ground. Asgore's eyes narrowed at Undyne sharply. “I-I mean, uh, y-your majesty, I, I, uh...”

  
  


“Did _everybody_ but me know about the human?” Asgore clapped a large hand to his forehead.

  
  


“Did it ever occur to you that _maybe_ that was for a good reason?” Toriel quipped coldly, causing the king to flinch again. He looked like an overgrown schoolchild, twiddling with his thumbs as if he had just been caught passing notes to another student.

  
  


 

  
  


“So... then how _did_ you know?” Sans tried and failed to stifle a yawn. God, he was so tired. Frisk was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

  
  


“Oh,” Asgore blinked. “A nice little flower monster told me.”

  
  


If Sans weren't already so exhausted and worn out, he could have _screamed_.

  
  


“If everyone is _quite_ finished catching up,” Papyrus said pointedly, still holding his arm close to his chest. “Frisk has been trying to get out attention.”

  
  


Sans blinked and glanced down at the child beside him. They hadn't said a single word, but they were indeed nodding toward the opening where the warm orange glow was flooding in. Sans pocketed his questions and followed numbly, drifting along the floor as he was gently pulled along.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


“It's... more beautiful than I remember,” Asgore said softly as the collection of monsters stood on the precipice of the cliff, staring out over the horizon.

  
  


“It truly is a gorgeous sight,” Toriel agreed, standing as far from him as she possibly could.

  
  


“What's that big orange thing?” Papyrus squinted in the dusk light. “It's... very pretty.”

  
  


“We call that the sun, bro,” Sans answered quietly. “Nice to finally get you introduced.”

  
  


“Oh. How quaint! Hello, sun!” Papyrus beamed up at the glowing orb.

  
  


Obviously, the sun did not reply.

“... I said, _hello._ ”

The setting sun ignored him.

“... Hmph. _Rude._ ”

 

  
  


“Its'... it's so _big_ out here,” Alphys tapped her claws nervously, fiddling with something in her pocket. Very likely her phone, but Sans didn't have the energy to ask. “It just looks like it goes on f-forever...”

  
  


“That's because it does, remember?” Sans tucked one hand into his pocket, still holding Frisk's hand in his other. “We've got the whole wide world open to us now. And it's all thanks to _this_ munckin,” he ruffled Frisk's hair, and although they looked a little annoyed they smiled back at him wordlessly. Why didn't they speak? Didn't they have anything to say? He would have thought that they would have so much more to tell them, but still, they just said... nothing. Nothing at all. It was making him supremely uneasy.

  
  


 

  
  


“So...” Papyrus said after a while of silence. “I hate to be a buzzkill, but would anyone happen to have a spare bandage on them?”

  
  


“Why, bro?” Sans blinked and glanced up at the skeleton beside him. “You get a scratch or _Jesus titty fucking Christ!”_

  
  


Sans felt so supremely _stupid_ that he hadn't even noticed why Papyrus had been holding his arm so close to his chest.

  
  


Or what was _left_ of his arm, anyway.

  
  


 

  
  


“I, er... can't really look at it,” Papyrus said with a frown. “Because I am _definitely_ leaking marrow, and if I see that again I'm absolutely going to faint and it will _totally_ ruin my big hero moment.”

  
  


“You are injured?” Toriel took him by the shoulder instantly and he hissed in pain, guiding him over to sit by an old oak. “How did this happen? Did _Dreemurr_ do this?!”

  
  


“No, it's fine,” Papyrus tried to insist, but was forcibly pushed back down as emerald light flooded from her fingertips, and Papyrus pointedly looked away. “I, er, had a little... _disagreement_ with someone that I thought was a friend.”

  
  


“Disagreement?” Toriel gaped at him. “Your _arm's_ off!”

  
  


“It's only a flesh wound,” Papyrus said uncomfortably. “Or. Um. Lack thereof.”

  
  


Toriel snorted as she healed him.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Oh god, now _I'm_ making puns,” Papyrus sighed and closed his eye sockets, leaning his head back against the tree. “See, Sans? I _told_ you that you were a terrible influence on me.”

  
  


“You've got me there, bro,” Sans said softly.

  
  


Papyrus's arm was... _difficult_ to look at, to say the least. For a skeleton, broken bones were possibly one of the most terrifying things to witness, but seeing what punching that demented flower had done to him was... _awful_. The slick foulness from that thing was still dripping off of him. His arm was completely gone almost up to the elbow, marrow spattering his battle body. Sans felt a little sick just looking at it, but he felt Frisk's firm but gentle grip in his hand draw him away.

  
  


 

  
  


“This... changes a great many things,” Asgore said quietly as he stared out over the mountains and forests, to the glimmering sea and the city beside it. “This changes so much. Perhaps... perhaps everything.”

  
  


“Say,” Undyne cleared her throat, nodding towards Papyrus. “You remember the guy I was telling you about?” she grinned widely. “That's him. So, whaddya think? Royal guard material, or what?”

  
  


Papyrus perked up instantly, eye sockets snapping open.

  
  


“I would be _delighted_ to have you in the royal guard,” Asgore said intantly.

  
  


“This is it,” Papyrus wept openly. “This is the greatest day of my entire life.”

  
  


“However...” Asgore coughed into one large hand. “I believe that it would be... very _unwise_ to wage war with humanity once again. The royal guard no longer has need of capturing humans, and would therefore be disbanded.”

“This is it,” Papyrus wept openly. “This is the worst day of my entire life.”

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

  
  


 

  
  


They set up camp a short while before the sun began to set.

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus was tended to personally by the queen, and Alphys peppered him with question after question almost the entire time, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he rather appeared to be annoyed by the constant attention rather than basking in it.

  
  


_Careful what you wish for, I guess._

  
  


 

  
  


Papyrus joined them a while later as the others toasted drinks around the campfire. He sidled down on Sans's opposite side after petting Frisk gently on the head with his only remaining hand.

  
  


Sans shifted with his back against one of the worn old oaks, never letting go of Frisk's hand. He had to fight to keep from staring at his brother's injury. Papyrus had lost so much just trying to protect them. And what had Sans given? He wasn't a hero like him. He was so far removed from 'hero' that he couldn't begin to imagine being in his brother's position. He was useless. That much had been proven. Violently and repeatedly.

  
  


 

  
  


“... So,” Papyrus clenched and unclenched his fist over his leg, giving a heavy sigh. “I suppose that the royal guard just sort of... waters flowers now. Call me crazy, but I'm not exactly big on taking care of _plants_ at the moment.”

  
  


“So does that mean you turned down the king?” Sans blinked in surprise, hardly able to stay awake.

  
  


“Of course not, he's the _king_ ,” Papyrus threw out an arm in exasperation. “So much for being the dashing hero fighting off hordes of humans.”

  
  


“Bro, are you _kidding_ me right now?” Sans couldn't help but chuckle. “You'll be beating 'em off with a _stick_ , no doubt. Showers of kisses for you every morning, no doubt 'bout it.”

  
  


“You really think so?” Papyrus hopefully leaned with his elbow on his knees.

  
  


“Of course, bro. After everybody hears about what a hero you are-”

  
  


“I don't quite consider myself that,” he answered softly, looking away. “I... killed my friend. Yes, he did something terrible, but...”

  
  


“ _Don't_ ,” Sans started bitterly, placing his free hand on his shoulder. He wanted to be sick. “If you doubt yourself and keep guessing what if, you'll never, _ever_ be able to let it go. Just... just _trust_ me on this one. You're a _goddamned hero_ , Paps. And I am _never_ gonna let you forget it,” he added with a wink.

  
  


Papyrus started to respond but was stopped when Frisk leaned over Sans and gently put their tiny hand over his with a smile. He sighed and shook his head, closing his mouth and letting out a sigh through his teeth.

  
  


 

  
  


After a moment of not releasing him, he realized that Frisk was prodding Sans as well, and they both looked up and felt like their whole world was reeling once again.

  
  


 

  
  


Stars.

  
  


There were so many _stars_.

  
  


 

  
  


“... Whoa,” Sans let out a shaky breath.

  
  


“Understatement of the century, brother,” Papyrus whispered, looking ready to start crying again. “It's... stars and stones. It's so... _beautiful_.”

  
  


“Told you,” Sans heard Chara's familiar tone, their voice almost soft enough to be confused for Frisk's if he didn't know the difference. He didn't want to glance away from the sight of infinity before him to know that their eyes had changed again. They pointed up and held out their hand, like they were trying to cup the sky. “The sun, and the moon, and _all_ the stars in the night sky.”

  
  


“What you've given us really is an irreplaceable gift, little one,” Papyrus wiped his eye sockets with his arm, beaming down at them. “I'm... I don't know if I told you, but... I'm happy that I met you.”

  
  


“Papyrus...” Chara started slowly, looking directly at him. “I think it's time that I-I told you the truth about me.”

  
  


“You mean that you're not Frisk.”

  
  


“No, that I'm-I'm, uh. What.”

  
  


“What?” Papyrus didn't even register Chara's or Sans's outright shock. “You thought I wouldn't figure it out? Why does everyone assume that I'm _dumb_?”

  
  


“I – you're – _how_?” Chara spluttered.

  
  


“The inflection in your tone, for one,” he pointed out. “Plus Frisk uses their other hand. What? Did you think it was just a coincidence that I never _once_ called you Frisk while your eyes were red? I know you aren't Frisk. But you're still _family_ ,” he said warmly, placing a hand over their head gently with a kind smile. “And I'm _glad_ that you are.”

  
  


 

  
  


Sans couldn't even bring himself to speak for the longest time.

  
  


“... _Whelp_ ,” Papyrus stood after a while. “Alphys is going to roast marshmallows for everyone, and I promised that I would help make smores. Come join us when you're ready, alright?”

  
  


Sans could only nod silently. There was simply no way that his body could take any more shock today. He just wouldn't make it. He could only watch as Papyrus happily rejoined the others, chatting amicably amongst them like he had never left.

  
  


 

  
  


And then Sans started _laughing_.

  
  


He just couldn't hold it in anymore. He wans't certain of why he was laughing, and he only shook his head when he felt Frisk's grip on his hand tighten a little. Frisk, Chara, he didn't know. Didn't care. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it never did.

  
  


But so long as he had Papyrus, so long as he had his little babybones, then somehow or another they could make things work. And he _wanted_ it to work, he wanted it so badly that it burned inside his chest. But for that, he had to try. More than that, he had to want to try, and keep doing it. Frisk hugged him around the belly and he held them closer, closing his eyes as his wild chuckles died down. Maybe things would be okay. And maybe, if he tried harder than he had ever tried in his entire life, then maybe, just _maybe_ , someday he could be a good person, too.

  
  


 

  
  


0-0-0-0-0

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Book One.
> 
> I'm working on getting the second book rewritten and uploaded as quickly as I can between juggling a bunch of other stuff. Prepare for bad times for everyone because I'm awful. T_T


	31. Quick Question

Author's Note ~

Not actually a chapter, but I didn't want to post it on April Fool's and make people feel like I'm just pulling their leg about it. I've been going over this story quite frequently as of late and have until this point been thoroughly convinced that the entire story is garbage (I still am I'm very stubborn) but have been contemplating a lot. Would anyone even want a reupload of the deleted content, or a continuation of the story in general? People keep telling me that they want more of the story but it's mixed reviews and I don't want it to turn out as a run-on dumpster fire because I didn't know when to stop.

But I also REALLY want to write again, and I've been stuck in what I'm lamely understating as a rut, so who knows. Maybe I'll figure out how to drag myself out of it and stop obsessing long enough to write an entirely new (excessively fucked up) story along the way. Let me know your brainthoughts, lovelies. Until then, I'll be smacking my face against a typewriter until Shakespeare drools from between the keys.


End file.
